THE  FORTUNE  HUNTER 


You  can  be  worth  a  million     .     .     .     within  a  year" 

(page  38) 


Fortune  Hunter 


BY 


LOUIS  JOSEPH  VANCE 

AUTHOR  OF 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  TERENCE  O'ROURKE, 
THE  BLACK  BAG,  ETC. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
ARTHUR  WILLIAM   BROWN 


NEW   YORK 

GROSSET    &,   DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1910,  BY 

WINCRELL  SMITH  AND  LOUIS  JOSEPH  VANCE 
EnttrtJ  at  Station'  tf-//,  Z.IK/.H,  EngUnd 


I  right*  reserved,  including  those  of  translation  Into  foreij 
languages,  including  Scandinavian. 

Published,  rcbruarj,  i'-HO 


Ts 

GEORGE  SPELLVIN,  ESQ., 
This  book  is  cheerfully  dedicated 


AN  APOLOGY  AND  A  WARNING 

THE  reader  should  know,  before  he  goes  adven- 
turing in  these  pages,  that  the  plot  of  the  story  is 
taken  from  the  comedy  of  the  same  title  by  Mr. 
Winchell  Smith.  With  Mr.  Smith's  knowledge 
and  consent  some  attempt  has  herein  been  made 
to  tell  the  story  as  though  it  had  occurred  to  the 
writer  as  material  for  a  novel  rather  than  for  the 
stage.  To  this  end  additions  have  been  made  to 
the  story  and  a  few  new  characters  introduced — 
notably  that  of  Mr.  Homer  Littlejohn,  Managing 
Editor  of  the  Radville  Citizen,  through  whose 
spectacles  the  comedy  is  reviewed. 

L.J.V. 

NEW  YORK,  December,  1909. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  FROM  HIM  THAT  HATH  NOT  ....  i 

II  To  HIM  THAT  HATH 21 

III  INSPIRATION 34 

IV  TRIUMPH  OF  MR.  HOMER  LITTLEJOHN  54 
V  MARGARET'S  DAUGHTER 69 

VI  INTRODUCTION  TO  Miss  CARPENTER  .     .  92 

VII  A  WINDOW  IN  RADVILLE 101 

VIII  THE  MAN  OF  BUSINESS  IN  EMBRYO     .  117 

IX  SMALL  BEGINNINGS      ......  140 

X  ROLAND  BARNETTE'S  FRIEND      ..     .     .  157 

XI  BLINKY  LOCKWOOD 175 

XII  DUNCAN'S  GRUBSTAKE 193 

XIII  THE  BUSINESS  MAN  AND  MR.  BURNHAM  202 

XIV  MOSTLY  ABOUT  BETTY 219 

XV  MANOEUVRES  OF  JOSIE 238 

XVI  WHERE  RADVILLE  FEARED  TO  TREAD      .  252 

XVII  TRACEY'S  TROUBLES 263 

XVIII  A  BARGAIN  is  A  BARGAIN 276 

XIX  PROVING  THE  PERSPICUITY  OF  MR.  KEL- 
LOGG       291 

XX  ROLAND  SHOWS  His  HAND     ....  301 

XXI  As  OTHERS  SAW  HIM  .     .....  311 

XXII  ROLAND'S  TRIUMPH     ......  320 

XXIII  THE  RAINBOW'S  END  .     ...    ,.     >     ...    ...  335 


FROM   HIM  THAT    HATH    NOT 

RECEIVER  at  ear,  Spaulding,  of  Messrs.  Atwater 
&  Spaulding,  importers  of  motoring  garments  and 
accessories,  listened  to  the  switchboard  operator's 
announcement  with  grave  attention,  acknowledg- 
ing it  with  a  toneless :  "  All  right.  Send  him  in." 
Then  hooking  up  the  desk  telephone  he  swung 
round  in  his  chair  to  face  the  door  of  his  private 
office,  and  in  a  brief  ensuing  interval  painstakingly 
ironed  out  of  his  face  and  attitude  every  indication 
of  the  frame  of  mind  in  which  he  awaited  his 
caller.  It  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  anything  but 
a  pleasant  one:  he  had  a  distasteful  duty  to  per- 
form; but  that  was  the  last  thing  he  designed  to 
become  evident.  Like  most  good  business  men  he 
nursed  a  pet  superstition  or  two,  and  of  the  num- 
ber of  these  the  first  was  that  he  must  in  all  his 
dealings  present  an  inscrutable  front,  like  a  poker- 
player's:  captains  of  industry  were  uniformly  like 
that,  Spaulding  understood;  if  they  entertained 
emotions  it  was  strictly  in  private.  Accordingly 
he  armoured  himself  with  a  magnificent  imper^ 
turbability  which  at  times  almost  deceived  its 
wearer. 


2  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

Occasionally  it  deceived  others:  notably  now  it 
bewildered  Duncan  as  he  entered  on  the  echo  of 
Spaulding's  "  Come !  "  He  had  apprehended  the 
visage  of  a  thunderstorm,  with  a  rattle  of  brusque 
complaints:  he  encountered  Spaulding  as  he  had 
always  seemed :  a  little,  urbane  figure  with  a  blank 
face,  the  blanker  for  glasses  whose  lenses  seemed 
always  to  catch  the  light  and,  glaring,  mask  the 
eyes  behind  them;  a  prosperous  man  of  affairs, 
well  groomed  both  as  to  body  and  as  to  mind;  a 
machine  for  the  transaction  of  business,  with  all  a 
machine's  vivacity  and  temperamental  responsive- 
ness. It  was  just  that  quality  in  him  that  Duncan 
envied,  who  was  vaguely  impressed  that,  if  he 
himself  could  only  imitate,  however  minutely,  the 
phlegm  of  a  machine,  he  might  learn  to  ape  some- 
thing of  its  efficiency  and  so,  ultimately,  prove 
himself  of  some  worth  to  the  world — and,  inci- 
dentally, to  Nathaniel  Duncan.  Thus  far  his 
spasmodic  attempts  to  adapt  to  the  requirements 
and  limitations  of  the  world  of  business  his  own 
equipment  of  misfit  inclinations  and  ill-assorted 
abilities,  had  unanimously  turned  out  signal  fail- 
ures. So  he  envied  Spaulding  without  particularly 
admiring  him. 

Now  the  sight  of  his  employer,  professionally 
bland  and  capable,  and  with  no  animus  to  be  dis- 
cerned in  his  attitude,  provided  Duncan  with  one 
brief,  evanescent  flash  of  hope,  one  last  expiring 


FROM   HIM   THAT    HATH   NOT          3 

instant  of  dignity  (tempered  by  his  unquenchable 
humour)  in  which  to  face  his  fate.  Something  of 
the  hang-dog  vanished  from  his  habit  and  for  a  lit- 
tle time  he  carried  himself  again  with  all  his  one- 
time grace  and  confidence. 

"  Good-afternoon,  Mr.  Spaulding,"  he  said,  re- 
plying to  a  nod  as  he  dropped  into  the  chair  that 
nod  had  indicated.  A  faint  smile  lightened  his 
expression  and  made  it  quite  engaging. 

"  G'dafternoon."  Spaulding  surveyed  him 
swiftly,  then  laced  his  fat  little  fingers  and  con- 
templated them  with  detached  intentness.  "Just 
get  in,  Duncan?  " 

"  On  the  three-thirty  from  Chicago.     .     .     ." 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  Spaulding  re- 
viewed his  fingernails  with  impartial  interest;  in 
that  pause  Duncan's  poor  little  hope  died  a  natural 
death.  "  I  got  your  wire,"  he  resumed;  "  I  mean, 
it  got  me — overtook  me  at  Minneapolis.  .  .  . 
So  here  I  am." 

"  You  haven't  wasted  time." 

"  I  fancied  the  matter  might  be  urgent,  sir." 

Spaulding  lifted  his  brows  ever  so  slightly. 
"Why?" 

"  Well,  I  gathered  from  the  fact  that  you  wired 
me  to  come  home  that  you  wanted  my  advice." 

A  second  time  Spaulding  gestured  with  his  eye- 
brows, for  once  fairly  surprised  out  of  his  pose, 
"your  advice! 


4  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"Yes,"  said  Duncan  evenly:  "as  to  whether 
you  ought  to  give  up  your  customers  on  my  route 
or  send  them  a  man  who  could  sell  goods." 

"  Well     .     .     ."     Spaulding  admitted. 

"  Oh,  don't  think  I'm  boasting  of  my  acuteness : 
anybody  could  have  guessed  as  much  from  the 
great  number  of  heavy  orders  I  have  not  been 
sending  you." 

"  You've  had  bad  luck    .     .     ." 

"  You  mean  you  have,  Mr.  Spaulding.  It  was 
good  luck  for  me  to  be  drawing  down  my  weekly 
cheques,  bad  luck  to  you  not  to  have  a  man  who 
could  earn  them." 

His  desperate  honesty  touched  Spaulding  a 
trifle ;  at  the  risk  of  not  seeming  a  business  man  to 
himself  he  inclined  dubiously  to  relent,  to  give 
Duncan  another  chance.  The  fellow  was  likeable 
enough,  his  employer  considered;  he  had  good 
humour  and  even  in  dejection,  distinction;  what- 
ever he  was  not,  he  was  a  man  of  birth  and  breed- 
ing. His  face  might  be  rusty  with  a  day-old  stub- 
ble, as  it  was ;  his  shirt-cuffs  frayed,  his  shoes  down 
at  the  heel,  his  baggy  clothing  weirdly  ready-made, 
as  they  were :  there  remained  his  air.  You'd  think 
he  might  amount  to  something,  to  somewhat  more 
than  a  mere  something,  given  half  a  chance  in  the 
right  direction.  Then  what?  .  .  .  Spaulding 
sought  from  Duncan  elucidation  of  this  riddle. 

"  Duncan,"  he  said,  "  what's  the  trouble?" 


FROM   HIM   THAT   HATH   NOT          5 

11 1  thought  you  knew  that;  I  thought  that  was 
why  you  called  me  in  with  my  route  half-covered." 

"  You  mean ?  " 

"  I  mean  I  can't  sell  your  line." 

"Why?" 

"  God  only  knows.  I  want  to,  badly  enough. 
It's  just  general  incompetence,  I  presume." 

"  What  makes  you  think  that?  " 

Duncan  smiled  bitterly.    "  Experience,"  he  said. 

"You've  tried— what  else?" 

"  A  little  of  everything — all  the  jobs  open  to  a 
man  with  a  knowledge  of  Latin  and  Greek  and  the 
higher  mathematics:  shipping  clerk,  time-keeper, 
cashier — all  of  'em." 

"  And  yet  Kellogg  believes  in  you." 

Duncan  nodded  dolefully.  "  Harry's  a  good 
friend.  We  roomed  together  at  college.  That's 
why  he  stands  for  me." 

"  He  says  you  only  need  the  right  opening " 

"  And  nobody  knows  where  that  is,  except  my 
unfortunate  employers:  it's  the  back  door  going 
out,  for  mine  every  time.  .  .  .  Oh,  Harry's 
been  a  prince  to  me.  He's  found  me  four  or  five 
jobs  with  friends  of  his — like  yourself.  But  I 
don't  seem  to  last.  You  see  I  was  brought  up  to  be 
ornamental  and  irregular  rather  than  useful;  to 
blow  about  in  motor  cars  and  keep  a  valet  busy 
sixteen  hours  a  day — and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
My  father's  failure — you  know  about  that?  " 


6  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Spaulding  nodded.  Duncan  went  on  gloomily, 
talking  a  great  deal  more  freely  than  he  would  at 
any  other  time — suffering,  in  fact,  from  that  spe- 
cies of  auto  hypnosis  induced  by  the  sound  of  his 
own  voice  recounting  his  misfortunes,  which  seems 
especially  to  affect  a  man  down  on  his  luck. 

"  That  smash  came  when  I  was  five  years  out  of 
college — I'd  never  thought  of  turning  my  hand 
to  anything  in  all  that  time.  I'd  always  had  more 
coin  than  I  could  spend — never  had  to  consider 
the  worth  of  money  or  how  hard  it  is  to  earn :  my 
father  saw  to  all  that.  He  seemed  not  to  want  me 
to  work:  not  that  I  hold  that  against  him;  he'd  an 
idea  I'd  turn  out  a  genius  of  some  sort  or  other,  I 
believe.  .  .  .  Well,  he  failed  and  died  all  in 
a  week,  and  I  found  myself  left  with  an  extensive 
wardrobe,  expensive  tastes,  an  impractical  educa- 
tion— and  not  so  much  of  that  that  you'd  notice  it 
— and  not  a  cent.  ...  I  was  too  proud  to 
look  to  my  friends  for  help  in  those  days — and 
perhaps  that  was  as  well;  I  sought  jobs  on  my 
own.  .  .  .  Did  you  ever  keep  books  in  a  fish- 
market?" 

"No."  Spaulding's  eyes  twinkled  behind  his 
large,  shiny  glasses. 

"  But  what's  the  use  o*  my  boring  you?  "  Dun- 
can made  as  if  to  rise,  suddenly  remembering  him- 
self. 

"You're  not.    Go  on." 


FROM   HIM   THAT   HATH   NOT          7 

"  I  didn't  mean  to;  mostly,  I  presume,  I've  been 
blundering  round  an  explanation  of  Kellogg's 
kindness  to  me,  in  my  usual  ineffectual  way — felt 
somehow  an  explanation  was  due  you,  as  the  latest 
to  suffer  through  his  misplaced  interest  in  me." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Spaulding,  "  I  am  beginning 
to  understand.  Go  on:  I'm  interested.  About 
the  fish-market?" 

"  Oh,  I  just  happened  to  think  of  it  as  a  sample 
experience — and  the  last  of  that  particular  brand. 
I  got  nine  dollars  a  week  and  earned  every  cent  of 
it  inhaling  the  atmosphere.  My  board  cost  me  six 
and  the  other  three  afforded  me  a  chance  to  dem- 
onstrate myself  a  captain  of  finance — paying  laun- 
dry bills  and  clothing  myself,  besides  buying 
lunches  and  such-like  small  matters.  I  did  the 
whole  thing,  you  know — one  schooner  of  beer  a 
day  and  made  my  own  cigarettes:  never  could 
make  up  my  mind  which  was  the  worst.  The 
hours  were  easy,  too:  didn't  have  to  get  to  work 
until  five  in  the  morning.  ...  I  lasted  five 
weeks  at  that  job,  before  I  was  taken  sick:  shows 
what  a  great  constitution  I've  got." 

He  laughed  uncertainly  and  paused,  thoughtful, 
his  eyes  vacant,  fixed  upon  the  retrospect  that  was 
a  grim  prospect  of  the  imminent  future. 

"And  then ?" 

"Oh ?"  Duncan  roused.  "  Why,  then  I  fell 

in  with  Kellogg  again;  he  found  me  trying  the 


8  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

open-air  cure  on  a  bench  in  Washington  Square. 
Since  then  he's  been  finding  me  one  berth  after 
another.  He's  a  sure-enough  optimist." 

Spaulding  shifted  uneasily  in  his  chair,  stirred 
by  an  impulse  whose  unwisdom  he  could  not  doubt. 
Duncan  had  assuredly  done  his  case  no  good  by 
painting  his  shortcomings  in  colours  so  vivid;  yet, 
somehow  strangely,  Spaulding  liked  him  the  better 
for  his  open-hearted  confession. 

"Well  .  .  ."  Spaulding  stumbled  awk- 
wardly. 

"  Yes ;  of  course,"  said  Duncan  promptly,  rising. 
"  Sorry  if  I  tired  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by:     '  Yes,  of  course'  ?  " 

"That  you  called  me  in  to  fire  me — and  so 
that's  over  with.  Only  I'd  be  sorry  to  have  you 
sore  on  Kellogg  for  saddling  me  on  you.  You  see, 
he  believed  I'd  make  good,  and  so  did  I  in  a  way: 
at  least,  I  hoped  to." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Spaulding  uncom- 
fortably. "  The  trouble  is,  you  see,  we've  nothing 
else  open  just  now.  But  if  you'd  really  like  an- 
other chance  on  the  road,  I — I'll  be  glad  to  speak 
to  Mr.  Atwater  about  it." 

"  Don't  you  do  it  I  "  Duncan  counselled  him 
sharply,  aghast.  "  He  might  say  yes.  And  I  simply 
couldn't  accept;  it  wouldn't  be  fair  to  you,  Kel- 
logg, or  myself.  It'd  be  charity — for  I've  proved 
I  can't  earn  my  wages ;  and  I  haven't  come  to  that 


FROM    HIM    THAT    HATH    NOT          9 

yet.  No !  "  he  concluded  with  determination,  and 
picked  up  his  hat. 

"  Just  a  minute."  Spaulding  held  him  with  a 
gesture.  "You're  forgetting  something:  at  least 
I  am.  There's  a  month's  pay  coming  to  you;  the 
cashier  will  hand  you  the  cheque  as  you  go  out." 

"A  month's  pay?"  Duncan  said  blankly. 
"  How's  that?  I've  drawn  up  to  the  end  of  this 
week  already,  if  you  didn't  know  it." 

"  Of  course  I  knew  it.  But  we  never  let  our 
men  go  without  a  month's  notice  or  its  equivalent, 
and " 

"No,"  Duncan  interrupted  firmly.  "No;  but 
thank  you  just  the  same.  I  couldn't.  I  really 
couldn't.  It's  good  of  you,  but  .  .  .  Now," 
he  broke  off  abruptly,  "  I've  left  my  accounts — 
what  there  is  of  them — with  the  book-keeping  de- 
partment, and  the  checks  for  my  sample  trunks. 
There'll  be  a  few  dollars  coming  to  me  on  my  ex- 
pense account,  and  I'll  send  you  my  address  as 
soon  as  I  get  one." 

"  But  look  here "  Spaulding  got  to  his 

feet,  frowning. 

"  No,"  reiterated  Duncan  positively.  "  There's 
no  use.  I'm  grateful  to  you  for  your  toleration  of 
me — and  all  that.  But  we  can't  do  anything  better 
now  than  call  it  all  off.  Good-bye,  Mr.  Spauld- 
ing." 

Spaulding  nodded,  accepting  defeat  with  the  bet- 


TO  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

ter  grace  because  of  an  innate  conviction  that  it 
was  just  as  well,  after  all.  And,  furthermore,  he 
admired  Duncan's  stand.  So  he  offered  his  hand : 
an  unusual  condescension.  "  You'll  make  good 
somewhere  yet,"  he  asserted. 

'*  I  wish  I  could  believe  it."  Duncan's  grasp 
was  firm  since  he  felt  more  assured  of  some  hu- 
manity latent  in  his  late  employer.  "  However 
.  .  .  Good-bye." 

"  Good  luck  to  you,"  rang  in  his  ears  as  the 
door  put  a  period  to  the  interview.  He  stopped 
and  took  up  the  battered  suit-case  and  rusty  over- 
coat which  he  had  left  outside  the  junior  partner's 
office,  then  went  on,  shaking  his  head.  "  Much 
obliged,"  he  said  huskily  to  himself.  "  But  what's 
the  good  of  that.  There's  no  room  anywhere 
for  a  professional  failure.  And  that's  what  I  am ; 
just  a  ne'er-do-well.  I  never  realised  what  that 
meant,  really,  before,  and  it's  certainly  taken  me  a 
damn'  long  time  to  find  out.  But  I  know  now,  all 
right.  .  .  ." 

Outside,  on  the  steps  of  the  building,  he  paused 
a  moment,  fascinated  by  the  brisk  spectacle  af- 
forded by  lower  Broadway  at  the  hour  when  the 
cave-like  offices  in  its  cliff-like  walls  begin  to  empty 
themselves,  when  the  overlords  and  their  lieuten- 
ants close  their  desks  and  turn  their  faces  home- 
wards, leaving  the  details  of  the  day's  routine  to 
be  wound  up  by  underlings.  In  the  clear  light  of 


FROM   HIM   THAT    HATH   NOT        u 

the  late  spring  afternoon  a  stream  of  humanity 
was  high  and  fluent  upon  the  sidewalks.  Duncan 
had  glimpses  of  keen-faced  men,  bright-faced 
women,  eager  boys,  quickened  all  by  that  manner 
of  efficiency  and  intelligence  which  seems  so  in- 
tegrally American.  A  well-dressed  throng,  well- 
fed,  amiable  and  animated,  looking  ever  forward, 
the  resistless  tide  of  affairs  that  gave  it  being  bore 
it  onward;  it  passed  the  onlooker  as  a  strong  cur- 
rent passes  flotsam  in  a  back-eddy,  with  no  pause, 
no  turning  aside.  Acutely  he  felt  his  aloofness 
from  it,  who  had  no  part  in  its  interests  and 
scarcely  any  comprehension  of  them.  The  sunken 
look,  the  leanness  of  his  young  face,  seemed  sud- 
denly accentuated;  the  gloom  in  his  discontented 
eyes  deepened;  his  slight  habitual  stoop  became 
more  noticeable.  And  a  second  time  he  nodded 
acquiescence  to  his  unspoken  thought. 

"  There,"  said  he,  singling  out  a  passer-by  upon 
whose  complacent  features  prosperity  had  set  its 
smug  hall-mark — "  there,  but  for  the  grace  of 
God,  goes  Nat  Duncan !  "  He  rolled  the  para- 
phrase upon  his  tongue  and  found  it  bitter — not, 
however,  with  a  tonic  bitterness.  "  Lord,  what  a 
worthless  critter  I  am !  No  good  to  myself — nor 
to  anybody  else.  Even  on  Harry  I'm  a  drag — a 
regular  old  man  of  the  mountains !  " 

Despondently  he  went  down  to  the  sidewalk  and 
merged  himself  with  the  crowd,  moving  with  it 


12  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

though  a  thousand  miles  apart  from  it,  anj  pres- 
ently diverging,  struck  across-town  toward  the 
Worth  Street  subway  station. 

"And  the  worst  of  it  is,  he's  too  sharp  not  to 
find  it  out — if  he  hasn't  by  this  time — and  too 
damn'  decent  by  far  to  let  me  know  if  he  has! 
.  .  .  It  can't  go  on  this  way  with  us:  I  can't 
let  hint  .  .  .  Got  to  break  with  him  somehow. 
— now — to-day.  I  won't  let  him  think  me  ... 
what  I've  been  all  along  to  him.  .  .  .  Bless  his 
foolish  heart!  .  .  ." 

This  resolution  coloured  his  reverie  throughout 
the  uptown  journey.  And  he  strengthened  himself 
with  it,  deriving  a  sort  of  acrid  comfort  from  the 
knowledge  that  henceforth  none  should  know  the 
burden  of  his  misfortunes  save  himself.  There 
was  no  deprecation  of  Kellogg's  goodness  in  his 
mood,  simply  determination  no  longer  to  be  a 
charge  upon  it.  To  contemplate  the  sum  total  of 
the  benefits  he  had  received  at  Kellogg's  hands, 
since  the  day  when  the  latter  had  found  him  ill 
and  half-starved,  friendless  as  a  stray  pup,  on  the 
bench  in  Washington  Square,  staggered  his  imagi- 
nation. He  could  never  repay  it,  he  told  himself, 
save  inadequately,  little  by  little — mostly  by  grati- 
tude and  such  consideration  as  he  purposed  now 
to  exhibit  by  removing  himself  and  his  distresses 
from  the  other's  ken.  Here  was  an  end  to  com- 
fort for  him,  an  end  to  living  in  Kellogg's  rooms, 


FROM    HIM   THAT   HATH   NOT        13 

eating  his  food,  busying  his  servants,  spending  his 
money — not  so  much  borrowed  as  pressed  upon 
him.  He  stood  at  the  cross-roads,  but  in  no  doubt 
as  to  which  way  he  should  most  honourably  take, 
though  it  took  him  straight  back  to  that  from 
which  Kellogg  had  rescued  him. 

There  crawled  in  his  mind  a  clammy  memory  of 
the  sort  of  housing  he  had  known  in  those  evil 
days,  and  he  shuddered  inwardly,  smelling  again 
the  effluvia  of  dank  oilcloth  and  musty  carpets,  of 
fish-balls  and  fried  ham,  of  old-style  plumbing 
and  of  nine-dollar-a-week  humanity  in  the  un- 
washen  raw — the  odour  of  misery  that  permeated 
the  lodgings  to  which  his  lack  of  means  had  intro- 
duced him.  He  could  see  again,  and  with  a  pain- 
ful vividness  of  mental  vision,  the  degenerate 
"  brownstone  fronts  "  that  mask  those  haunts  of 
wretchedness,  with  their  flights  of  crumbling 
brownstone  steps  leading  up  to  oaken  portals 
haggard  with  flaking  paint,  flanked  by  squares  of 
soiled  note-paper  upon  which  inexpert  hands  had 
traced  the  warning,  not :  "  Abandon  hope  all  ye 
who  enter  here,"  but :  "  Furnished  rooms  to  let 
with  board."  And  pursuing  this  grim  trail  of 
memory,  whether  he  would  or  no — again  he 
climbed,,  wearily  at  the  end  of  a  wearing  day,  a 
darksome  well  of  a  staircase  up  and  up  to  an  eyrie 
under  the  eaves,  denominated  in  the  terminology 
of  landladies  a  "  top  hall  back " — a  cramped 


14  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

refuge  haunted  by  pitiful  ghosts  of  the  hopes  and 
despairs  of  its  former  tenants.  And  he  remem- 
bered with  reminiscently  aching  muscles  the  com- 
fort of  such  a  "  single  bed  "  as  is  peculiar  (one 
hopes)  to  top  hall  backs,  and  with  a  qualm  what 
it  was  to  cook  a  surreptitious  meal  on  a  metal 
heater  clamped  to  the  gas-bracket  (with  ears  keen 
to  catch  the  scuffle  of  the  landlady's  feet  as  she 
skulked  in  the  hall,  jealous  of  her  gas  bill). 

And  to  this  he  must  return,  to  that  treadmill 
round  of  blighted  days  and  joyless  nights  must  set 
his  face.  .  .  . 

Alighting  at  the  Grand  Central  Station  he 
packed  the  double  weight  of  his  luggage  and  his 
cares  a  few  blocks  northward  on  Madison  Avenue 
ere  turning  west  toward  the  bachelor  rooms  which 
Kellogg  had  established  in  the  roaring  Forties, 
just  the  other  side  of  the  Avenue — Fifth  Avenue, 
on  a  corner  of  which  Duncan  presently  was  held 
up  for  a  time  by  a  press  of  traffic.  He  lingered 
indifferently,  waiting  for  the  mounted  policeman 
to  clear  a  way  across,  watching  the  while  with 
lack-lustre  eyes  the  interminable  procession  of 
cabs  and  landaus,  taxis  and  town-cars  that  romped 
by  hazardously,  crowding  the  street  from  curb  to 
curb. 

The  day  was  of  young  June,  though  grey  and  a 
little  chill  with  the  discouraged  spirit  of  a  retarded 
season.  Though  the  hegira  of  the  well-to-do  to 


FROM    HIM   THAT    HATH    NOT        15 

their  summer  homes  had  long  since  set  in,  still 
there  remained  in  the  city  sufficient  of  their  class 
to  keep  the  Avenue  populous  from  Twenty-third 
Street  north  to  the  Plaza  in  the  evening  hours. 
The  suggestion  of  wealth,  or  luxury,  of  money's 
illimitable  power,  pervaded  the  atmosphere  in- 
tensely, an  ineluctable  influence,  to  an  independent 
man  heady,  to  Duncan  maddening.  He  surveyed 
the  parade  with  mutiny  in  his  heart.  All  this  he 
had  known,  a  part  of  it  had  been — upon  a  time. 
Now  .  .  .  the  shafts  of  his  roving  eyes  here 
and  there  detected  faces  recognisable,  of  men  and 
women  whose  acquaintance  he  had  once  owned. 
None  recognised  him  who  stood  there  worn, 
shabby  and  tired.  He  even  caught  the  direct 
glance  of  a  girl  who  once  had  thought  him  worth 
winning,  who  had  set  herself  to  stir  his  heart  and 
— had  been  successful.  To-day  she  looked  him 
straight  in  the  eyes,  apparently,  with  undisturbed 
serenity,  then  as  calmly  looked  over  and  through 
and  beyond  him.  Her  limousine  hurried  her  on, 
enthroned  impregnably  above  the  envious  herd. 

He  sped  her  transit  with  a  mirthless  chuckle. 
"  You're  right,"  he  said :  "  dead  right.  You  sim- 
ply don't  know  me  any  more,  my  dear — you 
musn't;  you  can't  afford  to  any  more  than  I  could 
afford  to  know  you." 

None  the  less  the  fugitive  incident  seemed  to 
brim  his  disconsolate  cup.  In  complete  dejection 


16  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

of  mind  and  spirit  he  pushed  on  to  Kellogg's 
quarters,  buoyed  by  a  single  hope — that  Kellogg 
might  be  out  of  town  or  delayed  at  his  office. 

In  that  event  Duncan  might  have  a  chance  to 
gather  up  his  belongings  and  escape  unhandi- 
capped  by  the  immediate  necessity  of  justifying  his 
course.  At  another  time,  surely,  the  explanation 
was  inevitable;  say  to-morrow;  he  was  not  cur 
enough  to  leave  his  friend  without  a  word.  But 
to-night  he  would  willingly  be  spared.  He  appre- 
hended unhappily  the  interview  with  Kellogg;  he 
was  in  no  temper  for  argumentation,  felt  scarcely 
strong  enough  to  hold  his  own  against  the  fire  of 
objections  with  which  Kellogg  would  undoubtedly 
seek  to  shake  his  stand.  Kellogg  could  talk, 
Heaven  alone  knew  how  winningly  he  could  talk! 
with  all  the  sound  logic  of  a  close  reasoner,  all  the 
enthusiasm  of  youth  and  self-confidence,  all  the 
persuasiveness  of  profound  conviction  singular  to 
successful  men.  Duncan  had  been  wont  to  say  of 
him  that  Kellogg  could  talk  the  hind-leg  off  of  a 
mule.  He  recalled  this  now  with  a  sour  grin: 
"  That  means  me  .  .  ." 

The  elevator  boy,  knowing  him  of  old,  neglected 
to  announce  his  arrival,  and  Duncan  had  his  own 
key  to  the  door  of  Kellogg's  apartment.  He  let 
himself  in  with  futile  stealth:  as  was  quite  right 
and  proper,  Kellogg's  man  Robbins  was  in  attend- 
ance— a  stupefied  Robbins,  thunderstruck  by  the 


FROM   HIM   THAT   HATH   NOT        17 

unexpected  return  of  his  master's  friend  and  guest. 
"  Good  Lord ! "  he  cried  at  sight  of  Duncan. 
"  Beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but — but  it  can't  be  you !  " 

"  Your  mistake,  Robbins.  Unfortunately  it  is." 
Duncan  surrendered  his  luggage.  "  Mr.  Kellogg 
in?" 

"  No,  sir.  But  I'm  expecting  him  any  minute. 
He'll  be  surprised  to  see  you  back." 

"  Think  so?  "  said  Duncan  dully.  "  He  doesn't 
know  me,  if  he  is." 

"  You  see,  sir,  we  thought  you  was  out  West." 

"So  you  did."  Duncan  moved  toward  the 
door  of  his  own  bedroom,  Robbins  following. 

"  It  was  only  yesterday  I  posted  a  letter  to  you 
for  Mr.  Kellogg,  sir,  and  the  address  was 
Omaha." 

"  I  didn't  get  that  far.  Fetch  along  that  suit- 
case, will  you  please?  I  want  to  put  some  clean 
things  in  it." 

"  Then  you're  not  staying  in  town  over  night, 
Mr.  Duncan?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I'm  not  staying  here,  anyway." 
Duncan  switched  on  the  lights  in  his  room.  "  Put 
it  on  the  bed,  Robbins.  I'll  pack  as  quickly  as  I 
can.  I'm  in  a  hurry." 

"  Yes,  sir,  but — I  hope  there's  nothing  wrong?" 

"Then  you  lose,"  returned  Duncan  grimly: 
"  everything's  wrong."  He  jerked  viciously  at 
an  obstinate  bureau  drawer,  and  when  it  yielded 


1 8  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

unexpectedly  with  the  well-known  impishness  of 
the  inanimate,  dumped  upon  the  floor  a  tangled 
miscellany  of  shirts,  socks,  gloves,  collars  and  ties. 

"  Didn't  you  like  the  business,  sir?  " 

"No,  I  didn't  like  the  business — and  it  didn't 
like  me.  It's  the  same  old  story,  Robbins.  I've 
lost  my  job  again — that's  all." 

11  I'm  very  sorry,  sir." 

"  Thank  you — but  that's  all  right.  I'm  used  to 
it." 

"  And  you're  going  to  leave,  sir?  " 

"  I  am,  Robbins." 

"  I — may  I  take  the  liberty  of  hoping  it's  to  take 
another  position  ?  " 

"  You  may,  but  you  lose  a  second  time.  I've 
just  made  up  my  mind  I'm  not  going  to  hang  round 
here  any  longer.  That's  all." 

"  But,"  Robbins  ventured,  hovering  about  with 
exasperating  solicitude — "  but  Mr.  Kellogg  'd 
never  permit  you  to  leave  in  this  way,  sir." 

"  Wrong  again,  Robbins,"  said  Duncan  curtly, 
annoyed. 

11  Yes,  sir.  Very  good,  sir."  With  the  instinct 
of  the  well-trained  servant,  Robbins  started  to 
leave,  but  hesitated.  He  was  really  very  much 
disturbed  by  Duncan's  manner,  which  showed  a 
phase  of  his  character  new  in  Robbins'  experience 
of  him.  Ordinarily  reverses  such  as  this  had 
seemed  merely  to  serve  to  put  Duncan  on  his  met- 


FROM    HIM    THAT    HATH    NOT        19 

tie,  to  infuse  him  with  a  determination  to  try  again 
and  win  out,  whatever  the  odds ;  and  at  such  times 
he  was  accustomed  to  exhibit  a  mad  irresponsibility 
of  wit  and  a  gaiety  of  spirit  (whether  it  were  a 
mask  or  no)  that  only  outrivalled  his  high  good 
humour  when  things  ostensibly  were  going  well 
with  him. 

Intermittently,  between  his  spasms  of  employ- 
ment, he  had  been  Kellogg's  guest  for  several 
years,  not  infrequently  for  months  at  a  time;  and 
so  Robbins  had  come  to  feel  a  sort  of  proprietary 
interest  in  the  young  man,  second  only  to  the  regard 
which  he  had  for  his  employer.  Like  most  people 
with  whom  Duncan  came  in  contact,  Robbins  ad- 
mired him  from  a  respectful  distance,  and  liked 
him  very  well  withal.  He  would  have  been  much 
distressed  to  have  harm  happen  to  him,  and  he 
was  very  much  concerned  and  alarmed  to  see 
him  so  candidly  discouraged  and  sick  at  heart. 
Perhaps  too  quick  to  draw  an  inference,  Robbins 
mistrusted  his  intentions ;  his  dour  habit  boded  ill 
in  the  servant's  understanding :  men  in  such  moods 
were  apt  to  act  unwisely.  But  if  only  he  might 
contrive  to  delay  Duncan  until  Kellogg's  return,  he 
thought  the  former  might  yet  be  saved  from  the 
consequences  of  folly  of  some  insensate  sort.  And 
casting  about  for  an  excuse,  he  grasped  at  the 
most  sovereign  solace  he  knew  of. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  he  advanced,  hesitant,  "  but 


20  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

perhaps  you're  just  feeling  a  bit  blue.  Won't  you 
let  me  bring  you  a  drop  of  something?  " 

"Of  course  I  will,"  said  Duncan  emphatically 
over  his  shoulder.  "  And  get  it  now,  will  you, 
while  I'm  packing.  .  .  .  And,  Robbins ! " 

"Sir?" 

"  Only  put  a  little  in  it." 

"A  little  what,  sir?" 

"  Seltzer,  of  course." 


II 

TO    HIM  THAT    HATH 

IT  had  been  a  forlorn  hope  at  best,  this  attempt 
of  his  to  escape  Kellogg:  Duncan  acknowledged  it 
when,  his  packing  rudely  finished,  he  started  for 
the  door,  Robbins  reluctantly  surrendering  the 
suit-case  after  exhausting  his  repertoire  of  devices 
to  delay  the  young  man.  But  at  that  instant  the 
elevator  gate  clashed  in  the  outer  corridor  and 
Kellogg's  key  rattled  in  the  lock,  to  an  accompany- 
ing confusion  of  voices,  all  masculine  and  all  very 
cheerful. 

Duncan  sighed  and  motioned  Robbins  away  with 
his  luggage.  "  No  hope  now,"  he  told  himself. 
"But— O  Lord!" 

Incontinently  there  burst  into  the  room  four 
men:  Jim  Long,  Larry  Miller,  another  whom 
Duncan  did  not  immediately  recognise,  and  Kel- 
logg himself,  bringing  with  them  an  atmosphere 
breezy  with  jubilation.  Before  he  knew  it  Duncan 
was  boisterously  overwhelmed.  He  got  his  breath 
to  find  Kellogg  pumping  his  hand. 

"  Nat,"  he  was  saying,  "  you're  the  only  other 
man  on  earth  I  was  wishing  could  be  with  me  to- 


22  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

night !  Now  my  happiness  is  complete.  Gad,  this 
is  lucky!" 

"You  think  so?"  countered  Duncan,  forcing  a 
smile.  "  Hello,  you  boys !  "  He  gave  a  hand  to 
Long  and  Miller.  "  How're  you  all?"  He 
warmed  to  their  friendly  faces  and  unfeigned  wel- 
come. "  My,  but  it's  good  to  see  you !  "  There 
was  relief  in  the  fact  that  Kellogg,  after  a  single 
glance,  forbore  to  question  his  return;  he  was  to 
be  counted  upon  for  tact,  was  Kellogg.  Now  he 
strangled  surprise  by  turning  to  the  fourth  mem- 
ber of  the  party. 

"  Nat,"  he  said,  "  I  want  you  to  meet  Mr.  Bart- 
lett.  Mr.  Bartlett,  Mr.  Duncan." 

A  wholesome  smile  dawned  on  Duncan's  face 
as  he  encountered  the  blank  blue  stare  of  a  young 
man  whose  very  smooth  and  very  bright  red  face 
was  admirably  set  off  by  semi-evening  dress. 
"Great  Scott!"  he  cried,  warmly  pressing  the 
lackadaisical  hand  that  drifted  into  his.  "Willy 
Bartlett — after  all  these  years !  " 

A  sudden  animation  replaced  the  vacuous  stare 
of  the  blue  eyes.  "  Duncan !  "  he  stammered.  "  I 
say,  this  is  rippin' !  " 

"As  bad  as  that?  "  Duncan  essayed  an  accent 
almost  English  and  nodded  his  appreciation  of  it: 
something  which  Bartlett  missed  completely. 

He  was  very  young — a  very  great  deal  younger, 
Duncan  thought,  than  when  they  had  been  class- 


TO    HIM   THAT    HATH  23 

mates,  what  time  Duncan  shared  his  rooms  with 
Kellogg:  very  much  younger  and  suffering  ex- 
quisitely from  over-sophistication.  His  drawl 
barely  escaped  being  inimitable;  his  air  did  not 
escape  it.  "  Smitten  with  my  old  trouble,"  Dun- 
can appraised  him :  "  too  much  money. 
Heaven  knows  I  hope  he  never  recovers !  " 

As  for  Willy,  he  was  momentarily  more  nearly 
human  than  he  had  seemed  from  the  moment  of 
his  first  appearance.  "  You  know,"  he  blurted, 
"this  is  simply  extraordinary.  I  say,  you  chaps, 
Duncan  and  I  haven't  met  for  years — not  since  he 
graduated.  We  belonged  to  the  same  frat, 
y'know,  and  had  a  jolly  time  of  it,  if  he  was  an 
upper-class  man.  No  side  about  him  at  all, 
y'know — absolutely  none  whatever.  Whenever  I 
had  to  go  out  on  a  spree,  I'd  always  get  Nat  to 
show  me  round." 

"  I  was  pretty  good  at  that,"  Duncan  admitted 
a  trifle  ruefully. 

But  Willy  rattled  on,  heedless.  "He  knew 
more  pretty  gels,  y'know  ...  I  say,  old 
chap,  d'you  know  as  many  now?  " 

Duncan  shook  his  head.  "  The  list  has  shrunk. 
I'm  a  changed  man,  Willy." 

"  Ow,  I  say,  you're  chawfin',"  Willy  argued  in- 
credulously. "  I  don't  believe  that,  y'know — 
hardly.  I  say,  you  remember  the  night  you 
showed  me  how  to  play  faro  bank?" 


24  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"  I'll  never  forget  it,"  Duncan  told  him  gravely. 
"And  I  remember  what  a  plug  we  thought  my 
room-mate  was  because  he  wouldn't  come  with 
us."  He  nodded  significantly  toward  the  amused 
Kellogg. 

"  Not  him !  "  cried  Willy,  expostulant.  "  Not 
really?  Why  it  cawn't  be !  " 

"  Fact,"  Duncan  assured  him.  "  He  was  work- 
ing his  way  through  college,  you  see,  whereas  I 
was  working  my  way  through  my  allowance — and 
then  some.  That's  why  you  never  met  him, 
Willy:  he  worked — and  got  the  habit.  We  loafed 
— with  the  same  result.  That's  why  he's  useful 

and  you're  ornamental,  and  I'm "  He  broke 

off  in  surprise.  "Hello!"  he  said  as  Robbins 
offered  a  tray  to  the  three  on  which  were  slim- 
stemmed  glasses  filled  with  a  pale  yellow,  effer- 
vescent liquid.  "  Why  the  blond  waters  of  excite- 
ment, please?"  he  inquired,  accepting  a  glass. 

From  across  the  room  Larry  Miller's  voice 
sounded.  "Are  you  ready,  gentlemen?  We'll 
drink  to  him  first  and  then  he  can  drink  to  his 
royal  little  self.  To  the  boy  who's  getting  on  in 
the  world !  To  the  junior  member  of  L.  J.  Bart- 
lett  and  Company!  " 

Long  applauded  loudly:  "Hear!  Hear!'* 
And  even  Willy  Bartlett  chimed  in  with  an  un- 
emotional: "Good  work!"  Mechanically  Dun- 
can downed  the  toast;  Kellogg  was  the  only  man 


TO    HIM   THAT    HATH  25 

not  drinking  it,  and  from  that  the  meaning  was 
easily  to  be  inferred.  With  a  stride  Duncan 
caught  his  hand  and  crushed  it  in  his  own. 

"  Harry,"  he  said  a  little  huskily,  "  I  can't  tell 
you  how  glad  I  am!  It's  the  best  news  I've  had 
in  years!  " 

Kellogg's  responsive  pressure  was  answer 
enough.  "  It  makes  it  doubly  worth  while,  to 
win  out  and  have  you  all  so  glad !  "  he  said. 

"  So  you've  taken  him  into  the  firm,  eh?  "  Dun- 
can inquired  of  Bartlett. 

The  blue  eyes  widened  stonily.  "  The  governor 
has.  I'm  not  in  the  business,  y'know.  Never  had 
the  slightest  turn  for  it,  what?  "  Willy  set  aside 
his  glass.  "  I  say,  I  must  be  moving.  No,  I 
cawn't  stop,  Kellogg,  really.  I  was  dressin'  at  the 
club  and  Larry  told  me  about  it,  so  I  just  dropped 
round  to  tell  you  how  jolly  glad  I  am." 

"Your  father  hadn't  told  you,  then?  " 

"Who,  the  governor?"  Willy  looked  unutter- 
ably bored.  "Why,  he  gave  up  tryin'  to  talk 
business  with  me  long  ago.  I  can't  get  interested 
in  it,  'pon  my  word.  Of  course  I  knew  he  thought 
the  deuce  and  all  of  you,  but  I  hadn't  an  idea  they 
were  goin'  to  take  you  into  the  firm.  What?" 

Long  and  Miller  interrupted,  proposing  adieus 
which  Kellogg  vainly  contended. 

"  Why,  you're  only  just  here "  he  expostu- 
lated. 


26  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"  Cawn't  help  it,  old  chap,"  Willy  assured  him 
earnestly.  "  I  must  go,  anyway.  I've  a  dinner 
engagement." 

"You'll  be  late,  won't  you?" 

"  Doesn't  matter  in  the  least;  I'm  always  late. 
'Night,  Kellogg.  Congratulations  again." 

"We  just  dropped  round  to  take  off  our  hats 
to  you,"  Long  continued,  pumping  Kellogg's  hand. 

"And  tell  you  what  a  good  fellow  we  think 
you  are,"  added  Miller,  following  suit. 

"You  don't  know  how  good  you  make  me 
feel,"  Kellogg  told  them. 

Under  cover  of  this  diversion  Duncan  was  mak- 
ing one  last  effort  to  slip  away;  but  before  he 
could  gather  together  his  impedimenta  and  get  to 
the  door  Willy  Bartlett  intercepted  him. 

"  I  say,  Duncan " 

"  Oh,  hell !  "  said  Duncan  beneath  his  breath. 
He  paused  ungraciously  enough. 

"We've  got  to  see  a  bit  of  one  another,  now 
we've  met  again,  y'know.  Wish  you'd  look  me 
up — Half  Moon  Club  '11  get  me  'most  any  time. 
We'll  have  to  arrange  to  make  a  regular  old- 
fashioned  night  of  it,  just  for  memory's  sake." 

Duncan  nodded,  edging  past  him.  "  I've  mem- 
ories enough,"  he  said. 

"  Right-oh!  Any  reason  at  all,  y'know,  just  so 
we  have  the  night." 

"  Good  enough,"  assented  Duncan  vaguely.  He 


•      TO   HIM   THAT    HATH  27 

suffered  his  hand  to  be  wrung  with  warmth.  "  I'll 
not  forget — good-night."  Then  he  pulled  up  and 
groaned,  for  Willy's  insistence  had  frustrated  his 
design :  Kellogg  had  suddenly  become  alive  to  his 
attitude  and  hailed  him  over  the  heads  of  Long 
and  Miller. 

"Nat,  I  say!  Where  the  devil  are  you  going? " 

"  Over  to  the  hotel,"  said  Duncan. 

"  The  deuce  you  are !     What  hotel?  " 

"  The  one  I'm  stopping  at." 

"  Not  on  your  life.  You're  not  going  just  yet 
—I  haven't  had  half  a  chance  to  talk  to  you.  Rob- 
bins,  take  Mr.  Duncan's  things." 

Duncan,  set  upon  by  Robbins,  who  had  been 
hovering  round  for  just  that  purpose,  lifted  his 
shoulders  in  resignation,  turning  back  into  the 
room  as  Miller  and  Long  said  good-night  to  him 
and  left  at  Bartlett's  heels,  and  smiled  awry  in 
semi-humorous  deprecation  of  the  way  in  which  he 
let  Kellogg  out-manoeuvre  him.  When  it  came  to 
that,  it  was  hard  to  refuse  Kellogg  anything;  he 
had  that  way  with  him.  Especially  if  one  liked 
him.  .  .  .  And  how  could  anyone  help  liking 
him? 

Kellogg  had  him  now,  holding  him  fast  by 
either  shoulder,  at  arm's  length,  and  shaking  a 
reproving  head  at  his  friend.  "  You  big  duffer !  " 
he  said.  "  Did  you  think  for  a  minute  I'd  let  you 
throw  me  down  like  that?  " 


28  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

Duncan  stood  passive,  faintly  amused  and 
touched  by  the  other's  show  of  affection.  "  No," 
he  said,  "  I  didn't  really  think  so.  But  it  was 
worth  trying  on,  of  course." 

"Look  here,  have  you  dined?" 

At  this  suggestion  Duncan  stiffened  and  fell 
back.  "  No,  but " 

Kellogg  swept  the  ground  from  under  his  feet. 
"  Robbins,"  he  told  the  man,  "  order  in  dinner  for 
two  from  the  club,  and  tell  'em  to  hurry  it  up." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Robbins,  and  flew  to  obey  be- 
fore Duncan  could  get  a  chance  to  countermand 
his  part  in  the  order. 

"  And  now,"  continued  Kellogg,  "  we've  got 
the  whole  evening  before  us  in  which  to  chin. 
Sit  down."  He  led  Duncan  to  an  arm-chair  and 
gently  but  firmly  plumped  him  into  its  capacious 
depths.  "  We'll  have  a  snug  little  dinner  here 
and — what  do  you  say  to  taking  in  a  show  after- 
wards? " 

11  I  say  no." 

"  You  dassent,  my  boy.  This  is  the  night  we 
celebrate.  I'm  feeling  pretty  good  to-night." 

"  You  ought  to,  Harry."  Duncan  struggled  to 
rouse  himself  to  share  in  the  spirit  of  gratulation 
with  which  Kellogg  was  bubbling.  "  I'm  mighty 
glad,  old  man.  It's  a  great  step  up  for  you." 

"  It's  all  of  that.  You  could  have  knocked  me 
over  with  a  feather  when  Bartlett  sprang  it  on  me 


TO    HIM    THAT    HATH  29 

this  morning.  Of  course,  I  was  expecting  some- 
thing— a  boost  in  salary,  or  something  like  that. 
Bartlett  knew  that  other  houses  in  the  Street  had 
made  me  offers — I've  been  pretty  lucky  of  late  and 
pulled  off  one  or  two  rather  big  deals — but  a  part- 
nership with  L.  J.  Bartlett !  Think  of  it, 

Nat!" 

"  I'm  thinking  of  it — and  it's  great." 

"  It'll  keep  me  mighty  busy,"  Kellogg  blun- 
dered blindly  on ;  "  it  means  a  lot  of  extra  work — 
but  you  know  I  like  to  work.  .  .  ." 

"  That's  right,  you  do,"  agreed  Duncan  drear- 
ily. "  It's  queer  to  me — it  must  be  a  great  thing 
to  like  to  work." 

"You  bet  it's  a  great  thing;  why,  I  couldn't 
exist  if  I  couldn't  work.  You  remember  that  time 
I  laid  off  for  a  month  in  the  country — for  my 
health's  sake  ?  I'll  never  forget  it :  hanging  round 
all  the  time  with  my  hands  empty — everyone  else 
with  something  to  do.  I  wouldn't  go  through 
with  it  again  for  a  fortune.  Never  felt  so  useless 
and  in  the  way " 

"  But,"  interrupted  Duncan,  knitting  his  brows 
as  he  grappled  with  this  problem,  "  you  were  in- 
dependent, weren't  you  ?  You  had  money — could 
pay  your  board?" 

"  Of  course;  nevertheless,  I  felt  in  the  way." 

"That's  funny.     .     .     ." 

"  It's  straight." 


30  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"  I  know  it  is;  it  wouldn't  be  you  if  you  didn't 
love  work.  It  wouldn't  be  me  if  I  did.  .  .  . 
Look  here,  Harry;  suppose  you  didn't  have  any 
money  and  couldn't  pay  your  board — and  had 
nothing  to  do.  How'd  you  feel  in  that  case?  " 

"  I  don't  know.    Anyhow,  that's  rot " 

"No,  it  isn't  rot.  I'm  trying  to  make  you 
understand  how  I  feel  when — when  it's  that  way 
with  me.  .  .  .  As  it  generally  is."  He  raised 
one  hand  and  let  it  fall  with  a  gesture  of  despond- 
ency so  eloquent  that  it  roused  Kellogg  out  of  his 
own  preoccupation. 

"  Why,  Nat !  "  he  cried,  genuinely  sympathetic. 
"  I've  been  so  taken  up  with  myself  that  I  forgot. 
...  I  hadn't  looked  for  you  till  to-morrow." 

"You  knew,  then?" 

"  I  met  Atwater  at  lunch  to-day.  He  told  me; 
said  he  was  sorry,  but " 

"  Yes.    Everybody  is  always  sorry,  but " 

Kellogg  let  his  hand  fall  on  Duncan's  shoulder. 
"  I'm  sorry,  too,  old  man.  But  don't  lose  heart. 
I  know  it's  pretty  tough  on  a  fellow " 

"  The  toughest  part  of  it  is  that  you  got  the 
job  for  me — and  I  had  to  fall  down." 

"  Don't  think  of  that.    It's  not  your  fault " 

"  You're  the  only  man  who  believes  that, 
Harry." 

"  Buck  up.  I'll  stumble  across  some  better  open- 
ing for  you  before  long,  and " 


TO    HIM   THAT    HATH  31 

"  Stop  right  there.     I'm  through " 

"Don't  talk  that  way,  Nat.  I'll  get  you  in 
right  somewhere." 

"  You're  the  best-hearted  man  alive,  Harry — 
but  I'll  see  you  damned  first." 

"  Wait."  Kellogg  demanded  his  attention. 
"  Here's  this  man  Burnham — you  don't  know 
him,  but  he's  as  keen  as  they  make  'em.  He's  on 
the  track  of  some  wonderful  scheme  for  making 
illuminating  gas  from  crude  oil ;  if  it  goes  through 
— if  the  invention's  really  practicable — it's  bound 
to  work  a  revolution.  He's  down  in  Washington 
now — 'left  this  afternoon  to  look  up  the  patents. 
Now  he  needs  me,  to  get  the  ear  of  the  Standard 
Oil  people,  and  I'll  get  you  in  there." 

"What  right've  you  got  to  do  that?"  de- 
manded Duncan.  "  What  the  dickens  do  I  know 
about  illuminating  gas  or  crude  oil?  Burnham'd 
never  thank  you  for  the  likes  o'  me." 

"But — thunder! — you  can  learn.  All  you 
need " 

"  Now  see  here,  Harry !  "  Duncan  gave  him 
pause  with  a  manner  not  to  be  denied.  "  Once 
and  for  all  time  understand  I'm  through  having 
you  recommend  an  incompetent — just  because 
we're  friends." 

"  But,  Harry " 

"  And  I'm  through  living  on  you  while  I'm  out 
of  a  job.  That's  final." 


32  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"But,  man — listen  to  me! — when  we  were  at 
college " 

"  That  was  another  matter." 

"  How  many  times  did  you  pay  the  room-rent 
when  I  was  strapped?  How  many  times  did  your 
money  pull  me  through  when  I'd  have  had  to  quit 
and  forfeit  my  degree  because  I  couldn't  earn 
enough  to  keep  on?" 

"  That's  different.  You  earned  enough  finally 
to  square  up.  You  don't  owe  me  anything." 

"  I  owe  you  the  gratitude  for  the  friendly  hand 
that  put  me  in  the  way  of  earning — that  kept  me 
going  when  the  going  was  rank.  Besides,  the  con- 
ditions are  just  reversed  now;  you'll  do  just  as  I 
did — make  good  in  the  world  and,  when  it's  con- 
venient, to  me.  As  for  living  here,  you're  per- 
fectly welcome." 

"  I  know  it — and  more,"  Duncan  assented  a 
little  wearily.  "Don't  think  I  don't  appreciate 
all  you've  done  for  me.  But  I  know  and  you  must 
understand  that  I  can't  keep  on  living  on  you, — 
and  I  won't." 

For  once  baffled,  Kellogg  stared  at  him  in  con- 
sternation. Duncan  met  his  gaze  steadily,  strong 
in  the  sincerity  of  his  attitude.  At  length  Kellogg 
surrendered,  accepting  defeat.  "Well  .  .  ." 
He  shrugged  uncomfortably.  "  If  you  in- 
sist 


TO   HIM   THAT   HATH  33 

11 1  do." 

"  Then  that's  settled." 
"  Yes,  that's  settled." 

"  Dinner,"  said  Robbins  from  the  doorway,  Kis 
served." 


Ill 

INSPIRATION 

"  LOOK  here,  Nat,"  demanded  Kellogg,  when 
they  were  half  way  through  the  meal,  "do  you 
mind  telling  me  what  you're  going  to  do  ?  " 

Duncan  pondered  this  soberly.  "  No,"  he  re- 
plied in  the  end. 

Kellogg  waited  a  moment,  but  his  guest  did  not 
continue.  "  What  does  that  kind  of  a  '  No ' 
mean,  Nat?" 

"  It  means  I  don't  mind  telling  you." 

Again  an  appreciable  pause  elapsed. 

"  Well,  then,  what  do  you  mean  to  do?" 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know." 

Kellogg  regarded  him  sombrely  for  a  moment, 
then  in  silence  returned  his  attention  to  his  plate; 
and  in  silence,  for  the  most  part,  the  remainder 
of  the  dinner  was  served  and  eaten.  Duncan  him- 
self had  certainly  enough  to  occupy  his  mind, 
while  Kellogg  had  altogether  forgotten  his  own 
cause  for  rejoicing  in  his  concern  for  the  fortunes 
of  his  friend.  He  was  entirely  of  the  opinion 
that  something  would  have  to  be  done  for  Nat, 
with  or  without  his  consent;  and  he  sounded  the 
profoundest  depths  of  romantic  impossibilities  in 
34 


INSPIRATION  35 

his  attempts  to  discover  some  employment  suited 
to  Duncan's  interesting  but  impracticable  assort- 
ment of  faculties  and  qualifications,  natural  and 
acquired.  But  nothing  presented  itself  as  feasible 
in  view  of  the  fact  that  employment  which  would 
prove  immediately  remunerative  was  required. 
And  by  the  time  that  Robbins,  clearing  the  board, 
left  them  alone  with  coffee  and  cigars  and  cig- 
arettes, Kellogg  was  fain  to  confess  failure — 
though  the  confession  was  a  very  private  one,  con- 
fined to  himself  only. 

"  Nat,"  he  said  suddenly,  rousing  that  young 
man  out  of  the  dreariest  of  meditations,  "what 
under  the  sun  can  you  do?" 

"  Me?  I  don't  know.  Why  bother  your  silly 
old  head  about  that?  I'll  make  out  somehow." 

"  But  surely  there's  something  you'd  rather  do 
than  anything  else." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  Duncan  told  him  impressively, 
"  the  only  walk  of  life  in  which  I  am  fitted  to 
shine  is  that  of  the  idle  son  of  a  rich  and  foolish 
father.  Since  I  lost  that  job  I've  not  been  worth 
my  salt." 

"That's  piffle.  There  isn't  a  man  living  who 
hasn't  some  talent  or  other,  some  sort  of  an  abil- 
ity concealed  about  his  person." 

"You  can  search  me,"  Duncan  volunteered 
gloomily. 

His    unresponsiveness    irritated    Kellogg;    he 


36  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

thought  a  while,  then  delivered  himself  of  a  di- 
dactic conclusion: 

"  The  trouble  with  you  is  you  were  brought  up 
all  wrong." 

"  Well,  I've  been  brought  down  all  right.  Be- 
sides, that's  a  platitude  in  my  case." 

"Let's  see:     I've  know  you — er — nine  years." 

"  Is  it  that  long?  "  Duncan  looked  up  from  a 
gloomy  inspection  of  the  interior  of  his  demi- 
tasse,  displaying  his  first  gleam  of  interest  in  this 
analysis  of  his  character.  "  You  are  a  long-suffer- 
ing old  duffer.  Any  man  who'd  stand  for  me  for 
nine  years " 

"  That'll  be  all  of  that,"  Kellogg  cut  in  sharply. 
"  I  was  going  on  to  say  that  you  can't  room  with 
a  man  for  four  terms  at  college  and  then  know 
him,  off  and  on,  for  five  years  more,  pretty  inti- 
mately, without  forming  a  pretty  clear  estimate 
of  what  he's  worth  in  your  own  mind." 

"  And  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  Harry,  I  think 
you're  the  best  little  business  man  as  well  as  the 
finest  sort  of  an  all-round  good-fellow  on  this  con- 
tinent." 

"  Thanks  awfully.  I  presume  that's  why  you're 
determined  to  throw  me  down  just  at  the  time 
you  need  me  most.  .  .  .  What  I  was  trying 
to  get  at  is  the  fact  that  I've  never  doubted  your 
ultimate  success  for  an  instant." 


INSPIRATION  37 

"  You'd  be  a  mighty  lonesome  minority  in  a 
congress  of  my  employers,  Harry." 

"  Given  the  proper  opportunity " 

"  Hold  on,"  Duncan  interrupted.  "  I  know 
just  what  you're  going  to  say,  and  it's  all  very 
fine,  and  I'm  proud  that  you  want  to  say  it  of  me. 
But  you're  dead  wrong,  Harry.  The  truth  is  I 
haven't  got  it  in  me — the  capacity  to  succeed. 
Just  as  much  as  you  love  work,  I  hate  it.  I  ought 
to  know,  for  I've  had  a  good,  hard  try  at  it — 
several  tries,  in  fact.  And  you  know  what  they 
came  to." 

"  But  if  you  persist  in  this  way,  Nat, — don't 
you  know  what  it  means?  " 

"  None  better.  It  means  going  back  to  what 
you  helped  me  out  of — the  life  that  nearly  killed 
me." 

"And  you'd  rather " 

"I'd  rather  that  a  thousand  years  before  I'd 
sponge  on  you  another  day.  .  .  .  But,  on  the 
level,  I'd  as  lieve  try  the  East  River  or  turn  on 
the  gas.  .  .  .  What's  the  use?  That's  the 
way  I  feel." 

"That's  fool  talk.  Brace  up  and  be  a  man. 
All  you  need  is  a  way  to  earn  money." 

"No,"  Duncan  insisted  firmly:  "get  it.  I'll 
never  be  able  to  earn  it — that's  a  cinch." 

Kellogg  laughed  a  little  mirthlessly,  absorbed 


38  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

in  revolving  something  which  had  popped  into  his 
head  within  the  last  few  moments.  "  There  are 
ways  to  get  it,"  he  admitted  abstractedly,  "  if 
you're  not  too  particular." 

"  I'm  not.  I  only  wish  I  understood  the  burglar 
business." 

This  time  Kellogg  laughed  outright.  He  sat 
up  with  a  new  spirit  in  his  manner.  "  You  mean 
you'd  steal  to  get  money?  " 

"Oh,  well  .  .  ."  Duncan  smiled  a  trace 
sheepishly.  "  I  can't  think  of  anything  hardly  I 
wouldn't  do  to  get  it." 

"Very  well,  my  son.  Now  attend  to  uncle." 
Kellogg  leaned  across  the  table,  fixing  him  with 
an  enthusiastic  eye.  "Here,  have  a  smoke:  I'm 
going  to  demonstrate  high  finance  to  your  debased 
intelligence."  He  thrust  the  cigarette  case  over 
to  Duncan,  who  helped  himself  mechanically,  his 
gaze  held  in  wonder  to  Kellogg's  face. 

"  Fire  when  ready,"  he  assented. 

"  I  know  a  way,"  said  Kellogg  slowly,  "  by 
which,  if  you'll  discard  a  scruple  or  two,  you  can 
be  worth  a  million  dollars — or  thereabouts — 
within  a  year." 

Duncan  held  a  lighted  match  until  it  singed 
his  fingertips,  the  while  he  stared  agape.  "Say 
that  again,"  he  requested  mildly. 

"You  can  be  worth  a  million  in  a  year." 

"  Ah !  "     Duncan  nodded  slowly  and  compre- 


INSPIRATION  39 

hendingly.  He  turned  aside  in  his  chair  and 
raked  a  second  match  across  the  sole  of  his  shoe. 
"  Let  him  rave,"  he  observed  enigmatically,  and 
began  to  smoke. 

"No,  I'm  not  dippy;  and  I'm  perfectly  seri- 
ous." 

"  Of  course.  But  what'd  they  do  to  me  if  I 
were  caught  ?  " 

"  This  is  not  a  joke;  the  proposition's  perfectly 
legal;  it's  being  done  right  along." 

"  And  I  could  do  it,  Harry?  " 

"  A  man  of  your  calibre  couldn't  fail." 

"Would  you  mind  ringing  for  Robbins?"  Dun- 
can asked  abruptly. 

"  Certainly."  Kellogg  pressed  a  button  at  his 
elbow.  "  What  d'you  want  ?" 

"  A  straight- jacket  and  a  doctor  to  tell  which 
one  of  us  needs  it." 

Kellogg,  chagrined  as  he  always  was  if  joked 
with  when  expounding  one  of  his  schemes,  broke 
into  a  laugh  that  lasted  until  Robbins  appeared. 

"You  rang,  sir?" 

"  Yes.  Put  those  decanters  over  here,  and  some 
glasses,  please." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

The  man  obeyed  and  withdrew.  Kellogg  filled 
two  glasses,  handing  one  to  Duncan. 

"  Now  be  decent  and  listen  to  me,  Nat.  I've 
thought  this  thing  over  for — oh,  any  amount  of 


40  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

time.  I'll  bet  anything  it  will  work.  What  d'you 
say?  Would  you  like  to  try  it?  " 

"Would  I  like  to  try  it?"  A  conviction  of 
Kellogg's  earnestness  forced  itself  upon  Duncan's 

understanding.  "Would  I 1  "  He  lifted  his 

glass  and  drained  it  at  a  gulp.  "  Why,  that's  the 
first  laugh  I've  had  for  a  month!  " 

"  Then  I'll  tell  you " 

Duncan  placed  a  pleading  hand  on  his  forearm. 
"  Don't  kid  me,  Harry,"  he  entreated. 

11  Not  a  bit  of  it.  This  is  straight  goods.  If 
you  want  to  try  it  and  will  follow  the  rules  I  lay 
down,  I'll  guarantee  you'll  be  a  rich  man  inside 
of  twelve  months." 

"  Rules !  Man,  I'll  follow  all  the  rules  in  the 
world !  Come  on — I'm  getting  palpitation  of  the 
heart,  waiting.  Tell  it  to  me:  what've  I  got  to 
do?" 

"  Marry,"  said  Kellogg  serenely. 

"  Marry !  "  Duncan  echoed,  aghast. 

"  Marry,"  reaffirmed  the  other  with  unbroken 
gravity. 

"Marry— who?" 

"A  girl  with  a  fortune.  .  .  .  You  see,  I 
can't  guarantee  the  precise  size  of  her  pile.  That 
all  depends  on  luck  and  the  locality.  But  it'll  run 
anywhere  from  several  hundred  thousand  up  to  a 
million — perhaps  more." 

Duncan  sank  back  despondently.     "  You  ought 


INSPIRATION  41 

to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Harry,"  he  said  dully; 
"  you  had  me  all  excited,  for  a  minute." 

"  No,  but  honestly,  I  mean  what  I  say." 

"  Now  look  here :  do  you  really  think  any  girl 
with  a  million  would  take  a  chance  on  me?" 

"  She'll  jump  at  it." 

Duncan  thought  this  over  for  a  while.  Then 
his  lips  twitched.  "  What's  the  matter  with  her?  " 
he  inquired.  "  I'm  willing  to  play  the  game  as  it 
lies,  but  I  bar  lunatics  and  cripples." 

"There's  no  particular  her — yet.  You  can 
take  your  pick.  I've  no  more  idea  where  she  is 
than  you  have." 

"  Now  I  know  you're  stark,  staring,  gibber- 
ing  " 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  I'm  inspired — that's  all. 
I've  solved  your  problem — you  only  can't  believe 
it." 

"How  could  I?  What  the  devil  are  you  get- 
ting at,  anyhow?  " 

"  This  pet  scheme  of  mine.  Lend  me  your  ears. 
Have  you  ever  lived  in  a  one-horse  country  town 
— a  place  with  one  unspeakable  hotel  and  about 
twenty  stores  and  five  churches?" 

"No     .     .     ." 

"  I  have ;  I  was  born  in  one  of  'em.  .  .  . 
Have  you  any  idea  what  becomes  of  the  young 
people  of  such  towns?" 

"  Not  a  glimmering." 


42  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"  Then  I'll  enlighten  your  egregious  density. 
.  .  .  The  boys — those  who've  got  the  stuff  in 
them — strike  out  for  the  cities  to  make  their  ever- 
lasting fortunes.  Generally  they  do  it,  too." 

"  The  same  as  you." 

"  The  same  as  me,"  assented  Kellogg,  unper- 
turbed. "  But  the  yaps,  the  Jaspers,  stay  there 
and  clerk  in  father's  store.  After  office-hours 
they  put  on  their  very  best  mail-order  clothes  and 
parade  up  and  down  Main  Street,  talking  loud 
and  flirting  obviously  with  the  girls.  The  girls 
haven't  much  else  to  do ;  they  don't  find  it  so  easy 
to  get  away.  A  few  of  'em  escape  to  boarding- 
schools  and  colleges,  where  they  meet  and  marry 
young  men  from  the  cities,  but  the  majority  of 
them  have  to  stay  at  home  and  help  mother — 
that's  r.  tradition.  If  there  are  two  children  or 
more,  the  boys  get  the  chance  every  time;  the 
girls  stay  home  to  comfort  the  old  folks  in  their 
old  age.  Why,  by  the  time  they're  old  enough 
to  think  of  marrying — and  they  begin  young,  for 
that's  about  the  only  excitement  they  find  avail- 
able— you  won't  find  a  small  country  town  between 
here  and  the  Mississippi  where  there  aren't  about 
four  girls  to  every  boy." 

"  It's  a  horrible  thought     .     .     ." 

"  You'd  think  so  if  you  knew  what  the  boys 
were  like.  There  isn't  one  in  ten  that  a  girl  with 
any  sense  or  self-respect  could  force  herself  to 


INSPIRATION  43 

marry  if  she  ever  saw  anything  better.  Do  you 
begin  to  see  my  drift?" 

"  I  do  not.    But  go  on  drifting." 

"No?  Why,  the  demand  for  eligible  males  is 
three  hundred  per  cent,  in  excess  of  the  supply. 
Don't  you  know — no,  you  don't :  I  got  to  that  first 
— that  there  are  twenty  times  as  many  old  maids 
in  small  country  towns  as  there  are  in  the  cities? 
It's  a  fact,  and  the  reason  for  it  is  because  when 
they  were  young  they  couldn't  lower  themselves 
to  accept  the  pick  of  the  local  matrimonial  mar- 
ket. Now,  do  you  see ?" 

"  You're  as  interesting  as  a  magazine  serial. 
Please  continue  in  your  next.  I  pant  with  antici- 
pation." 

"  You're  an  ass.  .  .  .  Now  take  a  young 
chap  from  a  city,  with  a  good  appearance,  more 
or  less  a  gentleman,  who  doesn't  talk  like  a  yap 
or  walk  like  a  yap  or  dress  like  a  yap  or  act  like 
a  yap,  and  throw  him  into  such  a  town  long  enough 
for  the  girls  to  get  acquainted  with  him.  He 
simply  can't  lose,  can't  fail  to  cop  out  the  best- 
looking  girl  with  the  biggest  bank-roll  in  town.  I 
tell  you,  there's  nothing  to  it ! " 

"  It's  wonderful  to  listen  to  you,  Harry." 

"  I'm  talking  horse  sense,  my  son.  Now  con- 
sider yourself:  down  on  your  luck,  don't  know 
how  to  earn  a  decent  living,  refusing  to  accept 
anything  from  your  friends,  ready  (you  say)  to 


44  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

do  almost  anything  to  get  some  money.  .  %  . 
And  think  of  the  country  heiresses,  with  plenty  of 
money  for  two,  pining  away  in — in  innocuous 
desuetude — hundreds  of  them,  fine,  straight,  good 
girls,  girls  you  could  easily  fall  in  love  with,  sigh- 
ing their  lives  away  for  the  lack  of  the  likes  of 
you.  .  .  .  Now,  why  not  take  one,  Nat — 
when  you  come  to  consider  it,  it's  your  duty — 
marry  her  and  her  bank-roll,  make  her  happy, 
make  yourself  happy,  and  live  a  contented  life  on 
the  sunny  side  of  Easy  Street  for  the  rest  of  your 
natural  born  days?  Can't  you  see  it  now?  " 

"  Yes,"  Duncan  admitted,  half-persuaded  of 
the  plausibility  of  the  scheme.  "  I  see — and  I 
admire  immensely  the  intellect  that  conceived  the 
notion,  Harry.  But  "...  I  can't  help  think- 
ing there  must  be  a  catch  in  it  somewhere." 

"  Not  if  you  follow  my  instructions.  You  see, 
having  come  from  just  such  a  hole-in-the-ground, 
I  know  just  what  I'm  talking  about.  Believe  me, 
everything  depends  on  the  way  you  go  about  it. 
There  are  a  lot  of  things  to  contend  with  at  first; 
you  won't  enjoy  it  at  all,  to  begin  with.  But  I 
can  demonstrate  how  it  can  be  managed  so  that 
you'll  win  out  to  a  moral  certainty." 

Duncan  drew  a  deep  breath,  sat  back  and 
looked  Kellogg  over  very  critically.  There  was 
not  a  suspicion  of  a  gleam  of  humour  in  his  face ; 
to  the  contrary,  it  blazed  with  the  ardour  of  the 


INSPIRATION  45 

instinctive  schemer,  the  man  who,  with  the  ability 
to  originate,  throws  himself  heart  and  soul  into 
the  promotion  of  the  product  of  his  imagination. 
Kellogg  was  not  sketching  the  outlines  of  a  gi- 
gantic practical  joke;  he  believed  implicitly  in  the 
feasibility  of  his  project;  and  so  strongly  that  he 
could  infuse  even  the  less  susceptible  fancy  of 
Duncan  with  some  of  his  faith. 

"  If  I  didn't  know  you  so  well,  Harry,"  said 
Duncan  slowly,  "  I'd  be  certain  you  were  mad. 
I'm  not  at  all  sure  that  I'm  sane.  It's  raving 
idiocy — and  it's  a  pretty  damned  rank  thing  to  do, 
to  start  deliberately  out  to  marry  a  woman  for 
her  money.  But  I've  been  through  a  little  hell 
of  my  own  in  my  time,  and — it's  not  alluring  to 
contemplate  a  return  to  it.  There's  nothing  mad 
enough  nor  bad  enough  to  stop  me.  What've*  I 
got  to  do?  " 

Kellogg  beamed  his  triumph.  "  You'll  try  it  on, 
then?" 

"  I'll  try  anything  on.  It's  a  contemptible,  low- 
lived piece  of  business — but  good  may  come  of  it; 
you  can't  tell.  What've  I  got  to  do  ?  " 

Slipping  back,  Kellogg  knitted  his  fingers  and 
stared  at  the  ceiling,  smiling  faintly  to  himself  as 
he  enumerated  the  conditions  that  first  appealed 
to  his  understanding  as  essentials  toward  suc- 
cess. 

"  First,  pick  out  your  town:  one  of  two  or  three 


46  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

thousand  inhabitants — no  larger.  I'd  suggest,  at 
a  hazard  guess,  some  place  in  the  interior  of 
Pennsylvania.  Most  of  such  towns  have  at  least 
one  rich  man  with  a  marriageable  daughter — but 
we'll  make  sure  of  that  before  we  settle  on  one. 
Of  course  any  suburban  town  is  barred." 

"How  so?" 

"  Oh,  they  don't  count.  The  girls  always  know 
people  in  the  city — can  get  there  easily.  That 
spoils  the  game." 

"How  about  the  game  laws?" 

"  I'm  coming  to  them.  Of  course  there  isn't 
an  open  or  close  season,  and  the  hunting's  always 
good,  but  there  are  a  few  precautionary  measures 
to  be  taken  if  you  want  to  be  sure  of  bagging  an 
heiress.  You  won't  like  most  of  'em." 

"Like 'em!     I'll  live  by  them !" 

"  Well,  here  come  the  things  you  mustn't  do. 
[You  mustn't  swear  or  use  slang;  you  mustn't 
smoke  and  you  mustn't  drink " 

"Heavens!  are  these  people  as  inhuman  as  all 
that?" 

"Worse  than  that.  It  might  be  fatal  if  you 
were  ever  seen  in  the  hotel  bar.  And  to  begin 
with,  you  must  refuse  all  invitations,  of  any  sort, 
whether  to  dances,  parties,  church  sociables,  or 
even  Sunday  dinners." 

"Why  Sunday  dinners?" 

"  Because  Sunday's  the  only  day  you'll  be  in- 


INSPIRATION  47 

vited.  Dinner  on  week-days  is  from  twelve  to 
twelve-thirty,  and  it's  strictly  a  business  matter — 
no  time  for  guests.  But  you  needn't  fret;  they 
won't  ask  you  till  they've  sized  you  up  pretty 
carefully." 
"Oh!  .  .  ." 

"  Moreover,  you  must  be  very  particular  about 
/our  dress;  it  must  be  absolutely  faultless,  but 
very  quiet :  clothing  sober — dark  greys  and  blacks 
— and  plain,  but  the  very  last  word  as  to  cut  and 
fit.  And  everything  must  be  in  keeping — the  very 
best  of  shirts,  collars,  ties,  hats,  socks,  shoes, 

underwear "     Kellogg  caught  Duncan's  look 

and  laughed.  "  Your  laundress  will  report  on 
everything,  you  know;  so  you  must  be  impec- 
cable." 

"  I'll  be  even  that — whatever  it  is." 
"  Be  very  particular  about  having  your  shoes 
polished,  shave  daily  and  manicure  yourself  relig- 
iously— but  don't  let  'em  catch  you  at  it." 
"  Would  they  raid  me  if  they  did?  " 
"  And  then,  my  son,  you  must  work." 
Kellogg  paused  to  let  his  lesson  sink  in.    After 
a  time  Duncan  observed  plaintively :     "  I  knew 
there  was  a  catch  in  it  somewhere.    What  kind  of 
work?" 

"  It  doesn't  make  any  difference,  so  long  as  you 
get  and  hold  some  job  in  the  town." 
"  Well,  that  lets  me  out.     You'll  have  to  sic 


48  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

some  other  poor  devil  on  this  glittering  proposi- 
tion of  yours.  I  couldn't  hold  a  job  in " 

"Wait!  I'll  tell  you  how  to  do  it  in  just  a 
minute." 

"  I  don't  mind  listening,  but " 

"  You'll  cinch  the  whole  business  by  going  to 
church  without  a  break.  Don't  ever  fail — morn- 
ing and  evening  every  Sunday.  Don't  forget 
that." 

"Why?" 

"  It's  the  most  important  thing  of  all." 

"  Does  going  to  church  make  such  a  hit  with 
the  young  female  Jasper — the  Jasperette,  as  it 
were?" 

"  It'll  make  you  more  solid  than  anything  else 
with  her  popper  and  mommer,  and  that's  very 
necessary  when  you're  a  candidate  for  their  ducats 
as  well  as  their  daughter.  You  must  work  and 
you  must  go  to  church." 

"That  can't  be  all.  Surely  you  can  think  of 
something  else?  " 

"  Those  are  the  cardinal  rules — church  and 
work  until  you've  landed  your  heiress.  After  that 
you  can  move  back  to  civilisation.  .  .  ,  Now 
as  soon  as  you  strike  your  town  you  want  to  make 
arrangements  for  board  and  lodging  in  some  old 
woman's  house — preferably  an  old  maid.  You'll 
be  sure  to  find  at  least  half  a  dozen  of  'em,  will- 
ing to  take  boarders,  but  you  want  to  be  equally 


INSPIRATION  49 

sure  to  pick  out  the  one  that  talks  the  most,  so 
that  she'll  tell  the  neighbours  all  about  you.  Don't 
worry  about  that,  though,  they  all  talk.  When 
you've  moved  in,  stock  up  your  room  with  about 
twenty  of  the  driest-looking  books  in  the  world — 
law  books  look  most  imposing ;  fix  up  a  table  with 
lots  of  stationery — pens  and  pencils,  red  and  black 
ink  and  all  that  sort  of  thing;  make  the  room 
look  as  if  you  were  the  most  sincere  student  ever. 
And  by  no  means  neglect  to  have  a  well-worn 
Bible  prominently  in  evidence :  you  can  buy  one 
second-hand  at  some  book-store  before  you  start 
out." 

"  I'd  have  to,  of  course.  I  thank  you  for  the 
flattery.  Proceed  with  the  programme  of  the  gay, 
mad  life  I  must  lead.  I'm  going  to  have  a  swell 
time:  that's  perfectly  plain." 

"  As  soon  as  you're  shaken  down  in  your  room, 
make  the  rounds  of  the  stores  and  ask  for  work. 
Try  and  get  into  the  dry-goods  emporium  if  you 
can:  the  girls  all  shop  there.  But  anything  will 
do,  except  a  grocery  or  a  hardware  store  and 
places  like  that.  You  mustn't  consider  any  em- 
ployment that  would  soil  your  clothes  or  roughen 
your  lily-white  hands." 

"  You  expect  me  to  believe  I'd  have  any  chance 
of  winning  a  millionaire's  daughter  if  I  were  a 
ribbon-clerk  in  a  dry-goods  store?  " 

"The  best  in  the  world.     The  ribbon-clerk  is 


50  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

her  social  equal;  he  calls  her  Mary  and  she  calls 
him  Joe." 

"  Done  with  you :  me  for  the  ribbon  counter. 
Anything  else?" 

"  The  storekeepers  aren't  apt  to  employ  you  at 
first;  they'll  be  suspicious  of  you." 

"  They  will  be  afterwards,  all  right.  How- 
ever  ?" 

"  So  you  must  simply  call  on  them — walk  in, 
locate  the  boss  and  tell  him :  '  I'm  looking  for 
employment.'  Don't  press  it;  just  say  it  and  get 
out." 

"  No  trouble  whatever  about  that ;  it's  always 
that  way  when  I  ask  for  work." 

"They'll  send  for  you  before  long,  when  they 
make  up  their  minds  that  you're  a  decent,  moral 
young  man;  for  they  know  you'll  draw  trade. 
And  every  Sunday " 

"I  know:  church!" 

"Absolutely.  .  .  .  Pick  out  the  one  the 
rich  folks  go  to.  Go  in  quietly  and  do  just  as 
they  do:  stand  up  and  kneel,  look  up  the  hymns 
and  sing,  just  when  they  do.  Be  careful  not  to 
sing  too  loud,  or  anything  like  that:  just  do  it  all 
modestly,  as  if  you  were  used  to  it.  Better  go  to 
church  here  two  or  three  times  and  get  the  hang 
of  it.  .  .  ." 

«  Here,  now " 

"  Nearly  all  the  wealthy  codgers  in  such  towns 


INSPIRATION  51 

are  deacons,  you  see,  and  though  they  may  not 
speak  to  you  for  months  on  the  street,  it's  their 
business  to  waylay  you  after  the  service  is  over 
and  shake  hands  with  you  and  tell  you  they  hope 
you  enjoyed  the  sermon  and  ask  you  to  come 
again.  And  you  can  bank  on  it,  they'll  all  take 
notice  from  the  first." 

"  It's  no  wonder  Bartlett  made  you  a  partner, 
Harry." 

"  Now  behave.  I  want  you  to  get  in  right. 
.  .  .  If  you  follow  the  rules  I've  outlined,  not 
only  will  all  the  girls  in  town  be  falling  over 
themselves  to  get  to  you  first,  but  their  fond  par- 
ents will  be  egging  them  on.  Then  all  you've  got 
to  do  is  to  pick  out  the  one  with  the  biggest  bundle 
and " 

"Make  a  play  for  her?" 

"  Not  on  your  life.  That  would  be  fatal.  Your 
part  is  to  put  yourself  in  her  way.  She'll  do  all 
the  courting,  and  when  she  scents  the  psycholog- 
ical moment  she'll  do  the  proposing." 

"  It  doesn't  sound  natural,  but  you  certainly 
seem  to  know  what  you're  drooling  about." 

"  You  can  anchor  to  that,  Nat." 

"And  are  you  finished?" 

"  I  am.  Of  course  I'll  probably  think  of  more 
things  to  wise  you  to,  before  you  go." 

Duncan  laughed  shortly  and  tilted  back  in  his 
chair,  selecting  another  cigarette.  "  And  you're 


52  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

the  chap  who  wanted  me  to  go  to  some  bromidic 
old  show  to-night!  Harry,  you're  immense.  Why 
didn't  you  ever  let  me  suspect  you  had  all  this 
romantic  imagination  in  your  system?" 

"  Imagination  be  blowed,  son.  This  is  busi- 
ness." Kellogg  removed  the  stopper  from  the 
decanter  and  filled  both  glasses  again.  "Well, 
what  do  you  say?  " 

"I've  just  said  my  say,  Harry.  It's  amazing; 
I'm  proud  of  you." 

"  But  will  you  do  it?  " 

"  Everything  else  aside,  how  can  I  ?  I've  got 
to  live,  you  know." 

"  But  I  propose  to  stake  you." 

Duncan  came  down  to  earth.  "  No,  you  won't ; 
not  a  cent.  I'm  in  earnest  about  this  thing:  no 
more  sponging  on  you,  Harry.  Besides " 

"No,  seriously,  Nat:  I  mean  this,  every  word 
of  it.  I  want  you  to  do  it — to  please  me,  if  you 
like;  I've  a  notion  something  will  come  of  it. 
And  I  believe  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  there's 
not  the  slightest  risk  if  you'll  play  the  cards  as 
they  fall,  according  to  Hoyle." 

"  Harry,  I  believe  you  do." 

"  I  do,  firmly.  And  I'll  put  the  proposition  on 
a  business  basis,  if  you  like." 

"  Go  on;  there's  no  holding  you." 

"  You  start  out  to-morrow  and  order  your  war 
kit.  Get  everything  you  need,  and  plenty  of  it, 


INSPIRATION  53 

and  have  the  bills  sent  to  me.  You  can  be  ready 
inside  a  fortnight.  The  day  you  start  I'll  advance 
you  five  hundred  dollars.  When  you're  married 
you  can  repay  me  the  amount  of  the  advances  with 
interest  at  ten  per  cent,  and  I'll  consider  it  a 
mighty  good  deal  for  myself.  Now,  will  you?" 

"  You  mean  it?  " 

"Every  word  of  it.    Well?" 

For  a  moment  longer  Duncan  hesitated;  then 
the  vision  of  what  he  must  return  to,  otherwise, 
decided  him.  In  desperation  he  accepted.  "  It's 
a  drowning  man's  straw,"  he  said,  a  little  breath- 
lessly. "  I'm  sure  I  shouldn't.  But  I  will." 

Kellogg  flung  a  hand  across  the  table,  palm 
uppermost. 

"Word  of  honour,  Nat?" 

Duncan  let  his  hand  fall  into  it.  "Word  of 
honour!  I'll  see  it  through." 

"Good!  It's  a  bargain."  Kellogg  lifted  his 
glass  high  in  air.  "  To  the  fortune  hunter!  "  he 
cried,  half  laughing. 

Duncan  nervously  fingered  the  stem  of  his  glass. 
"God  help  the  future  Mrs.  Duncan!"  he  said, 
and  drank. 


IV 

TRIUMPH   OF   MR.    HOMER   LITTLE  JO  rfx 

THE  twenty-first  of  June  was  a  day  of  memorable 
triumph  to  me,  a  day  of  memorable  events  for 
Radville. 

Only  the  evening  previous  Will  Bigelow  and  I 
had  indulged  in  acrimonious  argument  in  the  office 
of  the  Bigelow  House,  the  subject  of  contention 
being  the  importance  of  the  work  to  which  I  am 
devoting  my  declining  years,  to  wit,  the  recording 
of  The  History  of  Radville  Township,  Westerly 
County,  Pennsylvania;  Will  maintaining  with  that 
obstinacy  for  which  he  is  famous,  that  nothing 
ever  had  happened,  does  happen,  can  or  will  hap- 
pen in  our  community,  I  insisting  gently  but  firmly 
that  it  knows  no  day  unmarked  by  important 
occurrence  (for  it  would  ill  become  me,  as  the 
only  literary  man  in  Radville,  to  yield  a  point  in 
dispute  with  the  proprietor  of  the  town  tavern). 
Besides,  he  was  wrong,  even  as  I  was  indisputably 
right — only  he  had  not  the  grace  to  admit  it.  We 
ended  vulgarly  with  a  bet,  Will  wagering  me  the 
best  five-cent  Clear  Havana  in  the  Bigelow  House 
sample-room  that  nothing  worth  mentioning  would 
take  place  in  Radville  before  sundown  of  the  fol- 
lowing day. 

54 


MR.  HOMER  LITTLEJOHN'S  TRIUMPH      55 

I  left  him,  returning  to  my  room  at  Miss  Car- 
penter's (Will  and  I  are  old  friends,  but  I  refuse 
to  eat  the  food  he  serves  his  guests),  warmed 
by  the  prospect  of  certain  triumph  if  a  little 
appalled  by  the  prospect  of  winning  the  stake ;  and 
sympathising  a  little  with  Will,  who,  for  all  his 
egregious  stubborness,  has  some  excuse  for  up- 
holding his  unreasonable  and  ridiculous  views. 
He  knows  no  better,  having  never  had  the  oppor- 
tunity to  find  out  for  himself  how  utterly  absurd 
are  his  claims  for  the  outside  world.  Whereas  I 
have. 

He's  an  adventurer  at  heart,  Will  Bigelow,  a 
romantic  soul  crusted  heavily  with  character — like 
a  volcano  smouldering  beneath  its  lava.  For 
many  years  he  has  managed  the  Bigelow  House, 
with  his  thoughts  apart  from  it,  his  eyes  ever  seek- 
ing the  horizon  that  recedes  beyond  the  soaring 
rim  of  our  encircling  cup  of  hills,  his  heart  forever 
yearning  forth  to  the  outer  world;  which  he  er- 
roneously conceives  to  be  a  theatre  of  events — as 
if  outside  of  Radville  only  could  there  be  things 
worth  seeing,  considering,  or  doing,  or  matters  of 
any  sort  that  move  momentously !  As  long  as  I've 
known  the  man  (and  we  played  truant  together 
fifty  years  ago — hookey,  we  called  it  then)  he's 
had  his  heart  set  on  going  forth  from  Radville, 
"  for  to  admire  and  for  to  see,  for  to  view  this 
wide  world  o'er  " ;  always  he  has  presented  him- 


5*  THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

self  to  me  as  one  poised  on  the  pinnacle  of  pur- 
pose, ready  the  next  instant  to  dive  and  strike  out 
into  the  teeming  unknown  beyond  the  barrier  hills. 
But  this  promise  he  has  never  fulfilled.  He  still 
maintains  that  he  will  surely  go — next  week — 
after  the  hayin's  over — as  soon  as  the  ice  is  in — 
the  minute  Mary  graduates  from  High  School. 
.  .  .  But  I  know  he  never  will. 

So  to  Will  Radville  is  as  dull  as  ditchwater  to 
a  teamster;  to  me  it's  as  fascinating  as  that  same 
ditchwater  to  a  biologist  with  a  microscope.  I  see 
nothing  going  on  in  the  world  outside  of  Radville 
more  important  than  our  daily  life.  Too  long  I 
have  lived  away  from  it,  a  stranger  in  strange 
lands,  not  to  appreciate  its  relative  significance  in 
the  scheme  of  things.  It  makes  all  the  difference 
— the  view-point:  Will  sees  Radville  from  its 
homely  heart  outwards,  I  stand  on  its  boundaries, 
a  native  but  yet,  somehow  in  the  local  esteem  (by 
reason  of  my  long  residence  in  the  East)  an  out- 
lander.  Thus  I  get  a  perspective  upon  the  place, 
to  Will  and  his  ilk  denied. 

It  seems  curious  that  things  should  have  fallen 
out  thus  for  the  two  of  us :  that  Will  Bigelow,  all 
afire  with  the  lust  for  travel,  should  never  have 
mustered  up  enterprise  enough  to  break  his  home 
ties,  whilst  I  whose  dearest  desire  had  always  been 
to  live  no  day  of  my  alloted  span  away  from  Rad- 
ville, should  have  been,  in  a  manner  which  I'm 


MR.  HOMER  LITTLEJOHN'S  TRIUMPH      57 

bound  presently  to  betray,  forced  ©ut  into  the 
world;  that  he,  the  rebellious  stay-at-home,  curs- 
ing the  destiny  which  chained  him,  should  have 
prospered  and  become  the  man  of  substance  he  is, 
while  I,  mutinously  venturing,  should  have  re- 
turned only'  to  watch  my  sands  run  out  m  poverty 
r— what's  little  better. 

Not  that  I  would  have  you  think  me  whining: 
I  have  enough,  little  but  ample  for  my  simple 
needs,  if  inadequate  for  my  ambitions  or  my 
neighbours'  necessities.  My  editorial  work  for 
the  Radville  Citizen  is  quite  remunerative,  while 
my  weekly  column  of  local  gossip  for  the  Westerly 
Gazette  brings  me  in  a  little,  and  I've  one  or  two 
other  modest  sources  of  still  more  modest  income. 
But  Radville  folks  are  poor,  many  of  them,  many 
who  are  very  dear  to  me  for  old  sake's  sake. 
There's  Sam  Graham.  .  .  .  Though  I  wouldn't 
have  you  understand  that  as  a  community  we  are 
not  moderately  prosperous  and  contented,  com- 
fortable if  not  energetic  and  advanced.  This  is 
not  a  pushing  town:  it  has  never  known  a  boom. 
That  I'm  sure  will  some  day  come,  but  I  hope  not 
in  my  time.  I  have  faith  in  the  mountains 
that  fold  us  roundabout;  they  are  rich  with  the 
possibilities  of  coal  and  iron,  and  year  by  year 
are  being  more  and  more  widely  opened  up  and  de- 
veloped; year  by  year  the  ranks  of  flaming,  reek- 
ing coke  ovens  push  farther  on  beside  the  railway 


58  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

that  penetrates  our  valley.  But  as  yet  their  smoke 
does  not  foul  our  skies,  nor  does  their  refuse  pol- 
lute our  river,  nor  their  soot  tarnish  our  vegeta- 
tion. And  as  I  say,  I  hope  this  is  not  to  be  while 
I  live,  though  sometimes  I  have  fears:  Blinky 
Lockwood  made  a  fortune  selling  the  coal  that 
was  discovered  beneath  his  father's  old  farm  over 
Westerly  way,  and  ever  since  that  there's  been 
more  or  less  quiet  prospecting  going  on  in  our 
vicinity.  I  shall  be  sorry  to  see  the  day  when 
Radville  is  other  than  as  it  is :  the  quiet,  peaceful, 
sleepy  little  town,  nestling  in  the  bosom  of  the 
hills,  clean,  sweet  and  wholesome.  .  .  . 

But  this  is  rambling  far  from  the  momentous 
twenty-first  of  June,  my  day  of  triumph. 

I  shall  try  to  set  down  connectedly  and  coher- 
ently the  events  which  culminated  in  the  humbling 
of  Will  Bigelow  to  the  dust. 

To  begin  with,  we  were  early  startled  by  the  ru- 
mour that  Hiram  Nutt,  theretofore  deemed  un- 
conquerable, had  been  disastrously  defeated  at 
checkers  in  Willoughby's  grocery — and  that  by 
Watty  the  tailor,  of  all  men  in  Radville.  The 
rumour  was  confirmed  by  eleven  in  the  forenoon, 
and  in  itself  should  have  provided  us  with  a  nine 
days'  wonder. 

As  it  happened,  an  event  happening  almost 
simultaneously  confused  our  minds.  At  eleven- 
fifteen  Miss  Carpenter's  household  was  thrown 


MR.  HOMER  LITTLEJOHN'S  TRIUMPH      59 

into  consternation  by  the  scandalous  behaviour  of 
her  black  cat,  Caesar,  who  chose  suddenly  to  ter- 
minate a  long  and  outwardly  respectable  career  as 
Miss  Carpenter's  familiar  by  having  kittens  under 
the  horse-hair  sofa  in  the  parlour.  Incidentally 
this  indelicate  and  ungentlemanly  behaviour  tem- 
porarily unloosed  the  hinges  of  Miss  Carpenter's 
reason,  so  that  my  supper  suffered  that  evening, 
and  for  several  days  she  wandered  round  the 
house  with  blank  and  witless  eyes.  Perhaps  I 
should  have  warned  her,  for  I  had  latterly  come 
to  suspect  Cassar  of  leading  a  double  life;  but  for 
reasons  which  seemed  sufficient  I  had  refrained. 

By  the  noon  train  Roland  Barnette  received  his 
new  summer  suit  from  Chicago.  I  did  not  see  it 
till  evening,  but  heard  of  it  before  one,  since  Ro- 
land donned  it  immediately  and  wore  it  to  the 
bank  that  very  afternoon.  I  understand  it  caused 
something  very  near  a  run  on  the  bank;  people 
came  in  to  draw  a  dollar  or  so  or  get  change  and 
lingered  to  feast  their  outraged  visions,  so  that 
Blinky  Lockwood,  the  president,  had  to  send  Ro- 
land home  to  change  before  closing-time.  He 
changed  back,  however,  as  soon  as  off  duty,  and 
spent  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  and  evening  hours 
in  Sothern  and  Lee's,  at  the  soda-fountain ;  which 
Sothern  and  Lee  did  not  object  to,  since  it  drew 
trade. 

Pete  Willing  established  a  record  by  getting 


to  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

drunk  at  Schwartz's  bar  by  three  in  the  afternoon, 
his  best  previous  time  being  four-thirty;  and  Mrs. 
Willing  chased  him  up  Centre  Street  until,  at  the 
corner  of  Main,  he  blundered  into  the  arms  of 
Judge  Scott;  who  ordered  him  to  arrest  and  lock 
himself  up ;  which  Pete,  being  the  sheriff,  solemnly 
did,  saying  that  it  was  preferable  to  a  return  to 
home  and  wife. 

At  five  o'clock  there  was  a  dog-fight  in  front  of 
Graham's  drug-store. 

At  five-forty-five  the  evening  train  lurched  in, 
bearing  The  Mysterious  Stranger. 

Tracey  Tanner  saw  him  first,  having  driven 
down  to  the  station  with  his  father's  surrey  on 
the  off-chance  of  picking  up  a  quarter  or  so  from 
some  drummer  wishing  to  be  conveyed  to  the 
Bigelow  House.  Only  outlanders  pay  money  for 
hacks  in  Radville;  everybody  else  walks,  of  course. 
Naturally  Tracey  took  The  Mysterious  Stranger 
for  a  drummer;  he  had  three  trunks  and  a  heavy 
packing-box,  so  Tracey's  misapprehension  was 
pardonable.  Instinctively  he  drove  him  to  the 
Bigelow  House;  Will  now  and  again  makes 
Tracey  a  present  of  a  bottle  of  sarsaparilla  or 
lemon-pop,  with  the  result  that  Tracey  calls  Tan- 
nehill,  who  runs  the  opposition  hotel,  a  skinflint 
and  never  takes  strangers  there  except  on  their 
express  desire.  The  Mysterious  Stranger  merely 
asked  to  be  driven  to  the  best  hotel.  This  is  not 


MR.  HOMER  LITTLEJOHN'S  TRIUMPH     61 

like  most  commercial  travellers,  who  as  a  rule 
know  where  they  want  to  go,  even  in  a  strange 
town,  having  made  inquiry  in  advance  from  their 
brothers  of  the  road.  Tracey  made  a  note  of  this, 
and  is  further  on  record  as  having  observed  that 
this  stranger  was  rather  better  dressed  than  the 
run  of  drummers,  if  not  so  nobbily.  Moreover, 
he  was  reticent  under  the  cross-fire  of  Tracey's 
irrepressible  conversation,  and  failed  to  ask  the 
name  of  the  first  pretty  girl  they  passed;  who  hap- 
pened to  be  Angle  Tuthill.  Finally  The  Mysteri- 
ous Stranger  actually  tipped  Tracey  a  whole  quar- 
ter for  carrying  his  suit-case  into  the  hotel  office. 

With  these  incitements  it  would  have  been  un- 
reasonable to  expect  Tracey  to  do  otherwise  than 
linger  around  for  the  good  health  of  his  sense  of 
inquisitiveness,  which  would  else  have  been  se- 
verely sprained. 

Will  Bigelow  was  dozing  behind  the  desk, 
lulled  by  the  sound  of  Hi  Nutt's  voice  in  the  bar- 
room, as  he  explained  to  all  and  sundry  just  how 
he  had  inadvertently  permitted  Watty  the  tailor 
to  best  him  at  checkers  that  morning.  Otherwise 
the-office  was  deserted.  Tracey  wakened  Will  by 
stamping  heavily  across  the  floor,  and  Will  me- 
chanically pushed  down  his  spectacles  and  dipped 
a  pen  in  ink,  slewing  the  register  round  for  the 
guest's  signature.  He  says  he  knew  at  a  glance 
that  The  Mysterious  Stranger  was  no  travelling 


62  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

man,  but  this  is  a  moot  point,  Tracey's  memory 
being  minutely  accurate  and  at  variance  with 
Will's  assertion. 

The  Mysterious  Stranger  was  a  young  man, 
rather  severely  clothed  in  a  dark  suit  which  excited 
no  interest  in  Bigelow's  understanding,  although 
I,  when  I  saw  him  later,  had  no  difficulty  in  real- 
ising that  it  had  never  been  made  by  a  tailor  whose 
place  of  business  was  more  than  five  doors  re- 
moved from  Fifth  Avenue.  He  was  tallish,  but 
not  really  tall,  and  carried  himself  with  a  slight 
stoop  which  took  way  from  his  real  height. 
Tracey  says  he  had  a  way  of  looking  at  you  as  if 
he  was  smiling  inside  at  some  joke  he'd  heard  a 
long  time  ago;  and  I  don't  know  but  that's  a  fairly 
apt  description  of  his  ordinary  expression.  He 
had  a  way,  too,  of  nodding  jerkily  at  you — just 
once — to  show  he  recognised  you  or  understood 
what  you  were  driving  at;  at  other  times  he  car- 
ried his  head  a  trifle  to  one  side  and  slightly  for- 
ward. He  was  a  man  you  wouldn't  forget,  some- 
how, though  what  there  was  about  him  that  was 
remarkable  nobody  seemed  to  know. 

He  nodded  that  jerky  way  in  answer  to  Will 
Bigelow's  "  G'devenin',"  and  without  saying  any- 
thing took  the  pen  and  started  to  register.  He 
had  to  stop,  however,  for  Tracey  was  pressing 
him  se  close  upon  the  right  that  he  couldn't  get 
any  play  for  his  elbow,  and  after  a  minute  or  two 


MR.  HOMER  LITTLEJOHN'S  TRIUMPH     63 

he  asked  Tracey  politely  would  he  mind  stepping 
round  to  the  left,  where  he  could  see  just  as  well. 
So  Tracey  did.  Then  he  wrote  his  name  in  a 
good  round  hand :  "  Nathaniel  Duncan,  N.  Y." 

"  I'd  like  a  room  with  a  bath,"  he  told  Will: 
"  something  simple  and  chaste,  within  the  means 
of  a  man  in  moderate  circumstances." 

Will  thought  he  was  joking  at  first,  but  he 
didn't  smile,  so  Will  explained  that  there  was  a 
bathroom  on  the  third  floor  at  the  end  of  the  hall, 
though  there  wasn't  much  call  for  it.  "  I  could 
give  you  a  room  next  to  that,"  he  said,  "  but  you 
wouldn't  want  it,  I  guess." 

"Why  not?"  asked  The  Mysterious  Stranger. 

"  Because,"  said  Will,  "  'taint  near  the  sample- 
room." 

"That  doesn't  make  any  difference;  I'm  on  the 
wagon." 

The  only  sense  Will  could  get  out  of  that  was 
that  the  young  man  was  travelling  for  a  buggy 
house  and  hadn't  brought  any  samples  with  him. 
"  I  thought,"  he  allowed,  "  as  how  you'd  be 
wantin'  a  place  to  display  your  samples,  but  of 
course  if  you're  in  the  wagon  business " 

"  Oh,"  said  Mr.  Duncan,  "  I  thought  you 
meant  the  *  sample-room '  over  there."  He 
nodded  toward  the  bar.  "  That's  what  you  call 
the  dispensaries  of  intoxicating  liquors  in  this  part 
of  the  country,  is  it  not?  " 


64  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Will  made  a  noise  resembling  an  affirmative, 
and  as  soon  as  he  got  his  breath  explained  that 
travelling  men  generally  wanted  a  sort  of  a  show- 
room next  to  theirs  and  that  that  was  called  a 
sample-room,  too. 

"  But  I'm  not  a  travelling  man,"  said  The  Mys- 
terious Stranger.  "So  I  shall  have  as  little  use 
for  the  one  as  the  other." 

Then  the  room  on  the  third  floor'll  do  for 
you,"  said  Will.  "  How  long  do  you  calculate  on 
stayin'?" 

"  That  will  depend,"  said  Mr.  Duncan:  "  a  day 
or  so — perhaps  longer;  until  I  can  find  comfort- 
able and  more  permanent  quarters." 

In  his  amazement  Will  jabbed  the  pen  so  hard 
into  the  potato  beside  the  ink-well  that  he  never 
could  get  the  nib  out  and  had  to  buy  a  new  one. 
"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you're  thinkin'  of  com- 
ing here  to  live?  "  he  gasped. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  the  young  man  apologetically. 
"  I  don't  think  you'll  find  me  in  the  way.  I  shall 
be  very  quiet  and  unobstrusive.  I'm  a  student, 
looking  for  a  quiet  place  in  which  to  pursue  my 
studies." 

"  Well,"  said  Will,  "  you've  found  it  all  right. 
There  ain't  no  quieter  place  in  Pennsylvany  than 
Radville,  Mr.  Duncan.  I  hope  you'll  like  it,"  he 
said,  sarcastic. 

"  I  shall  endeavour  to,"  said  the  young  man. 


MR.  HOMER  LITTLEJOHN'S  TRIUMPH     65 

"And  now  may  I  go  to  my  room,  please?  I 
should  like  to  renovate  my  travel-stained  person 
to  some  extent  before  dinner." 

"You'll  have  time,"  said  Will;  "dinner's  at 
noon  to-morrow.  I  guess  you're  thinkin'  about 
supper.  That's  ready  now.  Here,  Tracey,  you 
carry  this  gentleman's  things  up  to  number  forty- 
three." 

But  Tracey  had  already  gone,  and  such  was  his 
haste  to  spread  the  news  that  he  forgot  to  take  the 
horse  and  surrey  back  to  the  stable,  but  left  it 
standing  in  front  of  the  hotel  till  eight  o'clock; 
for  which  oversight,  I  am  credibly  informed,  his 
father  justly  dealt  with  him  before  sending  him 
to  bed. 

I  have  never  been  able  to  understand  how  we 
failed  to  hear  of  it  at  Miss  Carpenter's  before 
seven  o'clock.  That  was  the  hour  when,  having 
finished  supper  and  my  first  evening  pipe,  I 
started  down-town  to  the  Citizen  office,  intending 
to  stop  in  at  the  Bigelow  House  on  the  way  and 
confound  Will  with  the  list  of  the  day's  happen- 
ings. Main  Street  was  pretty  well  crowded  for 
that  hour,  I  remember  noticing,  and  most  of  the 
townsfolk  were  grouped  together  on  the  corners, 
underneath  the  lamps,  discussing  something  rather 
excitedly.  I  paid  no  particular  attention,  realising 
that  between  Czesar,  Pete  Willing,  Roland  Bur- 
nette's  suit  and  the  checker  game,  they  had  enough 


66  THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

to  talk  about.  So  it  wasn't  until  I  walked  into  the 
Bigelow  House  office  that  I  either  heard  or  saw, 
anything  of  The  Mysterious  Stranger. 

Will  Bigelow  was  in  his  usual  place  behind  the 
desk,  and  looked,  I  thought,  rather  disgruntled. 
His  reply  to  my  "  Howdy,  Will?  "  sounded  some- 
what snappish.  But  he  got  out  of  his  chair  and 
moved  round  the  end  of  the  desk  just  as  the  young 
man  came  out  of  the  dining-room  door.  Then 
Will  pulled  up  and  I  realised  that  he  was  calling 
my  attention  to  the  stranger. 

So  far  as  I  could  see,  he  seemed  an  ordinary, 
everyday,  good-looking,  good-natured  young  man, 
whose  naturally  sunny  disposition  had  been  in- 
sulted by  the  food  recently  set  before  him.  He 
wandered  listlessly  out  upon  the  porch  and  stood 
there,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  looking  up 
and  down  Centre  Street,  just  then  being  shad- 
owed into  the  warm,  purple  June  dusk,  beneath  its 
double  row  of  elms.  We've  always  thought  it  a 
rather  attractive  street,  and  that  night  it  seemed 
especially  lively  with  its  trickle  of  girls  and  boys 
strolling  up  and  down,  and  the  groups  of  grown 
folks  on  the  corners,  and  Roland  Burnette's  sum- 
mer suit  conspicuous  through  Sothern  and  Lee's 
plate-glass  windows;  and  I  supposed  the  young 
man  was  admiring  it  all.  But  now  I  know  him 
better.  He  felt  just  the  same  about  Main  Street, 
corner  of  Centre,  Radville,  as  I  should  have  about 


MR.  HOMER  LITTLEJOHN'S  TRIUMPH     67 

Broadway  and  Forty-second  Street,  New  York,  if 
you  had  set  me  down  there  and  told  me  I'd  got 
to  get  accustomed  to  the  idea  that  I  must  live 
there.  He  was  saying,  deep  down  in  his  heart: 
"  O  Lord!  " — with  the  rising  inflection. 

Will  grabbed  my  arm,  without  saying  anything, 
and  pulled  me  into  the  bar. 

"Hello!  "  I  said,  as  he  went  round  behind  and 
opened  the  cigar-case,  "  what's  up  ?  " 

He  took  out  two  boxes  of  the  finest  five-centers 
in  town  and  placed  them  before  me.  "  Them's 
up,"  he  said.  "  You  win.  Have  one." 

It  staggered  me  to  have  him  give  in  that  way; 
I  had  been  looking  forward  to  a  long  and  divert- 
ing dispute.  "  I  guess  you've  heard  everything 
worth  hearing  about  to-day's  history,"  I  said,  dis- 
appointed, as  I  selected  the  least  unpleasant  look- 
ing of  the  cigars. 

"  No,  I  haven't,"  he  said.  "  I  didn't  have  to 
hear  anything.  What  earned  you  that  smoke 
took  place  right  here  in  this  office.  .  .  . 
Here,"  he  said,  striking  a  match  for  me. 

I  had  been  trying  to  put  the  cigar  away  so  that 
I  might  dispose  of  it  without  hurting  Will's  feel- 
ings, but  he  had  me,  so  I  recklessly  poked  the 
thing  into  the  automatic  clipper  and  then  into  my 
mouth.  "  What  do  you  mean?  "  I  asked,  puffing. 

"  Come  'long  outside,"  said  Will;  and  we  went 
out  on  the  porch  just  in  time  to  see  Mr.  Duncan 


68  THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

going  wearily  upstairs  to  his  room.  "  I  mean," 
said  Will,  "him."  And  then  he  told  me  all 
about  it. 

"  But  things  like  that  don't  happen  every  day," 
he  wound  up  defensively.  "  I'll  go  you  another 
cigar  on  to-morrow." 

"No,  you  won't,"  I  said  indignantly;  and  fur- 
tively dropped  the  infamous  thing  over  the  rail- 
ing. 

I  am  never  successful  in  my  little  attempts  at 
deception,  even  in  self-defence.  In  all  candour  I 
believe  my  disposition  of  that  cigar  would  have 
gone  undetected  but  for  my  notorious  bad  luck. 
Of  course  Bigelow's  setter,  Pompey,  had  to  be 
asleep  right  under  the  spot  where  I  dropped  the 
cigar,  and  equally  of  course  the  burning  end  had 
to  make  instantaneous  connection  with  his  nerve- 
centres,  via  his  hide,  with  such  effect  that  he  arose 
in  agony  and  subsequently  used  coarse  language. 
Investigation  naturally  discovered  my  empty- 
handed  perfidy.  To  no  one  else  in  Radville  would 
this  have  happened. 

On  the  other  hand,  no  one  else  in  Radville 
would  have  thrown  away  the  cigar. 


MARGARET'S  DAUGHTER 

DISCOMFORT  roused  Duncan  from  his  rest  at  an 
early  hour,  the  morning  following  his  arrival  in 
Radville.  I  must  confess  that  the  beds  in  the 
Bigelow  House  are  no  better  than  they  should  be ; 
in  fact,  according  to  Duncan,  not  so  good.  Dun- 
can ought  to  know;  he  has  slept  in  one  of  them,  or 
tried  to;  a  trial  thus  far  to  me  denied.  From 
what  he  has  said,  however,  I  shudder  to  think 
what  will  become  of  me  should  I  ever  lose  the 
shelter  of  Miss  Carpenter's  second-story  front  and 
be  thrown  out  into  a  heartless  world  to  choose 
between  the  Bigelow  House  and  Frank  Tanne- 
hill's  Radville  Inn.  .  .  . 

Duncan  arose  and  consulted  the  two-dollar 
watch  which  he  had  left  on  the  pine  washstand  by 
the  window.  It  was  half-past  seven  o'clock,  and 
that  seemed  early  to  him.  He  was  tired  and  would 
willingly  have  turned  in  again,  but  a  rueful  glance 
at  the  couch  of  his  night-long  vigil  sufficed  him. 
He  lifted  a  hand  to  Heaven  and  vowed  solemnly: 
"Never  again!" 

As  he  bent  over  the  washstand  and  poured  a 
cupful  of  water  into  the  china  basin,  thus  empty- 
ing the  pitcher,  he  was  conscious  of  a  pain  in  his 
69 


70  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

back;  but  a  thought  cheered  him.  "They  must 
have  decent  stables  in  this  town,"  he  considered, 
brightening.  "  The  haymows  for  mine,  after 
this." 

He  dressed  with  scrupulous  care,  mindful  of 
Kellogg's  parting  words,  the  sense  of  which  was 
that  first  impressions  were  most  important.  "  All 
the  same,"  Duncan  thought,  **  I  don't  believe  they 
count  in  a  dead-and-alive  place  like  this.  There's 
no  one  here  with  sufficient  animation  to  realise  I'm 
in  town."  This  shows  how  little  he  understood 
our  little  community.  A  day  of  enlightenment 
was  in  store  for  him. 

Pansy  Murphy  was  scrubbing  out  the  office 
when  he  came  down  for  breakfast.  She  is  large, 
of  what  is  known  as  a  full  complexion,  good- 
hearted  and  energetic.  His  pause  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs,  as  he  surveyed  in  dismay  the  seven 
seas  of  soapy  water  that  occupied  the  floor, 
aroused  her.  She  sat  back  suddenly  on  her  heels 
and  looked  her  fill  of  him,  with  her  blue  Irish 
eyes  very  wide,  and  her  mouth  a  trap.  He  bowed 
politely.  Pansy  saved  herself  from  falling  over 
backwards  by  a  supreme  effort,  scrubbed  her  hair 
out  of  her  eyes  with  a  very  wet  hand,  and  gave 
him  "  Good-marrin',  Misther  Dooncan,"  in  a 
brogue  as  rich  as  you  could  wish  for. 

He  started  violently.  "Heavens!"  he  said. 
"I  am  discovered!  " 


MARGARET'S    DAUGHTER  71 

"  Make  yer  moind  aisy  about  thot,"  Pansy  as- 
sured him.  "  'Tis  known  all  over  town  who  ye 
arre,  what's  yer  name,  how  manny  troonks  yeVe 
brought  wid  ye,  and  th'  rayson  f'r  yer  comin' 
here." 

"A  comforting  thought,  thank  you,"  he  com- 
mented: "to  awake  to  find  one's  self  grown  fa- 
mous over-night!  .  .  ." 

"  Now  ye  know,"  she  returned,  emboldened, 
"  what  it  is  to  be  a  big  toad  in  a  small  puddle." 

"  I  thank  you."  He  nodded  again,  with  a  com- 
prehensive survey  of  the  reeking  floor.  "I'm 
afraid  I  do."  With  which  he  slipped  and  slid 
over  to  and  through  the  swinging  wicker  doors  of 
the  dining-room. 

It  was  deserted.  From  the  negligee  of  the 
tables,  littered  with  the  plates  and  dishes,  dreary 
survivors  of  a  dozen  breakfasts,  he  divined  that 
he  was  the  tardiest  guest  in  the  household.  A  slat- 
ternly young  woman  in  a  soiled  shirt-waist — the 
waitress — received  him  with  great  calm  and  waved 
him  toward  a  table  by  the  window,  where  an  un- 
used cover  was  laid.  He  went  meekly,  dogged  by 
her  formidable  presence.  She  stood  over  him  and 
glared  down. 

"  Haman  neggs,"  she  said  defiantly,  "  steakan 
nomlette." 

"  I'll  be  a  martyr,"  he  told  ner  civilly.  "  Me 
for  the  steak." 


72  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

She  frowned  gloomily  and  tramped  away.  He 
folded  his  hands  and,  cheered  by  an  appetising 
aroma  of  warm  water  and  yellow  soap  from  the 
office,  considered  the  prospect  from  the  window  by 
his  side.  Three  children  and  a  yellow  dog  came 
along  and  watched  him  do  it,  dispassionately  re- 
viewing his  points  in  clear  young  voices.  Tracey 
Tanner  ambled  into  view  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street  and  beamed  at  him  generously,  his  round 
red  face  resembling,  Duncan  thought,  more  than 
anything  else  a  summer  sun  rising  through  mist. 
Josie  Lockwood  (he  was  to  discover  her  name 
later)  passed  with  her  pert  little  nose  ostenta- 
tiously pointed  away  from  him;  none  the  less  he 
detected  a  gleam  in  the  corner  of  her  eye.  .  .  . 
Others  went  by,  singly  or  in  groups,  all  more  or 
less  openly  interested  in  him. 

He  tried  to  look  unconscious,  but  with  ill  suc- 
cess. There  was  nothing  particularly  engaging  in 
the  view:  the  broad,  dusty  street  lined  with  com- 
monplace structures  of  "  frame  "  and  brick,  glow- 
ing in  the  morning  sunshine.  There  were,  to  be 
sure,  cool  shadows  beneath  the  trees,  but  the  sug- 
gestion was  all  of  summer  heat.  There  was  a 
watering-trough  and  hitching-rail  directly  oppo- 
site, a  little  to  one  side  of  Hemmenway's  feed- 
store,  and  there  a  well-fed  mare,  stood,  drooping 
dejectedly  between  the  shafts  of  a  dilapidated 
buggy.  On  the  corner  was  a  two-storey  brick 


MARGARET'S   DAUGHTER  73 

building  with  large  plate-glass  windows  on  the 
ground  floor  for  the  display  of  intimate  articles  of 
feminine  apparel.  The  black  and  gold  sign  above 
proclaimed  it:  "The  Fair.  Dry  Goods  &  No- 
tions. Leonard  &  Call."  Duncan  considered  it 
with  grave  respect.  "  The  scene  of  my  future  ac- 
tivities," he  observed. 

By  this  time  his  audience  had  become  too  large 
and  friendly  for  his  endurance.  He  rose  and  re- 
tired to  a  less  public  table. 

In  her  own  good  time  the  waitress  returned  with 
a  plate,  and  a  small  oval  platter  in  one  hand  and 
a  cup  of  coffee  in  the  other.  She  placed  them  be- 
fore him  with  a  manner  that  told  him  plainly  he 
could  never  make  himself  the  master  of  her  affec- 
tions. The  small  oval  platter  was  discovered  to 
contain  a  small  segment  of  dark-brown  ham  and 
two  fried  eggs  swimming  in  grease. 

Duncan  questioned  the  woman  with  mute,  ap- 
pealing eyes. 

"  Steak's  run  out,"  she  told  him  curtly. 

"  Leaving  no  address?  "  he  inquired  with  forced 
gaiety. 

A  suppressed  smile  softened  her  austerity,  and 
she  turned  away  to  hide  it.  "  To  think,"  he  won- 
dered, "  that  a  sense  of  humour  should  inhabit 
that !  "  He  broke  a  roll  and  munched  it  gloomily, 
pondering  this  revelation.  "  And  such  humour  I  " 
he  added,  with  justice. 


74  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

After  an  interval  the  woman  returned.  He  had 
refrained  from  the  staple  dish.  She  indicated  it 
with  a  grimy  forefinger. 

"  Please!  "  he  begged  plaintively.  "  I'm  never 
very  hungry  in  the  morning." 

"  I  guess  you  don't  like  the  table  here,"  she  ob- 
served icily,  clearing  away. 

"Do  you?" 

"  I  don't  have  to;  I  live  home." 

He  stared.     Could  it  be  possible    .     .    .? 

"I  know  a  good  old  one,  too,"  he  ventured 
hopefully.  "  Now  here."  He  drew  his  coffee  cup 
toward  him  and  began  to  stir  with  energy.  "  You 
say :  *  It  looks  like  rain  ' ;  and  I'll  say :  '  Yes, 
but  it  tastes  a  little  like  coffee.'  " 

She  clattered  away  indignantly.  He  rose,  de- 
pressed, and  sighing  sought  the  outer  air. 

In  the  course  of  a  forenoon's  stroll  Radville 
discovered  itself  to  him  in  all  its  squalor  and  its 
loveliness.  It  sits  in  the  centre  of  a  broad  valley 
of  rolling  meadow-land,  studded  with  infrequent 
homesteads,  broken  into  rather  extensive  farms, 
threaded  by  a  shallow  silver  stream  that  gives  its 
all  in  tribute  to  the  Susquehanna  far  in  the  south. 
The  barrier  mountains  rise  about  it  like  the  sides 
of  a  bowl,  with  a  great  V-shaped  piece  chipped  out 
of  the  southern  wall.  This  break  we  call  the  Gap; 
through  it  the  railroad  comes  to  us,  through  it  the 
river  escapes.  The  hills  rear  high  and  steep,  their 


MARGARET'S   DAUGHTER  73 

swelling  flanks  cloaked  in  sombre  green  and  grey, 
with  here  and  there  a  bald  spot  like  a  splash  of 
ochre  where  there's  been  a  landslide,  climbing  di- 
rectly from  the  plain,  with  no  foothills.  A  recluse, 
I  have  thought,  must  have  chosen  this  spot  for  a 
town  site ;  ^sickened  of  the  world,  he  sought  seclu- 
sion— and  found  it  here  to  his  heart's  content. 
Until  the  coke-ovens  come,  following  the  miners, 
with  their  attendant  hordes  of  Slovaks,  Poles  and 
Hungarians,  we  shall  be  near  to  God,  for  we  shall 
know  peace.  .  .  . 

The  town  has  been  laid  out  with  great  rectangu- 
larity;  the  river  divides  it  unequally.  On  the  west- 
ern bank  is  the  larger  community — locally,  the  Old 
Town,  retaining  its  characteristics  of  sobriety, 
quiet  and  comfort ;  here,  also,  is  the  business  centre 
— such  business  as  there  is.  Here  Duncan  found 
homely  residences  sitting  back  from  the  street 
in  ample  grounds — grounds,  perhaps,  not  very 
carefully  groomed,  but  in  spite  of  that  attractive 
and  pleasant  to  the  eye.  With  one  or  two  excep- 
tions, none  were  strongly  suggestive  of  wealth. 
He  detected  a  trace  of  ostentation,  and  no  taste 
whatever,  in  Lockwood's  new  villa  (I'm  told  that's 
the  polite  designation  for  the  edifice  he  caused  to 
be  erected  what  time  the  plague  of  riches  smote 
him  and  the  old  home  on  Cherry  Street  became 
too  small  for  the  collective  family  chest),  and 
there  was  quiet  dignity  in  the  quaintly  columned 


76  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

fagade  of  the  Bohun  mansion,  now  occupied  solely 
by  old  Colonel  Bohun,  lonely  and  testy,  reputed 
the  richest  as  well  as  the  most  miserable  man  in 
the  county.  But  as  to  his  wealth,  I  doubt  if  rumour 
runs  by  more  than  tradition;  Blinky  Lockwood's 
new-found  hundred-thousands  are  growing  rapidly 
toward  the  million  mark,  unless  Blinky's  a  worse 
business  man  than  the  town  takes  him  to  be. 

An  old  stone  arch  (whereon  lovers  linger  in  the 
moonlight)  spans  the  stream  and  links  the  Old 
Town  with  the  new,  which  we  sometimes  term 
the  Flats,  but  more  often  simply  Over  There.  It 
is  a  sordid  huddle  of  dingy  and  down-at-the-heel 
tenements,  housing  the  poorer  working  classes  and 
the  frankly  worthless  and  ruffianly  riff-raff  of  the 
neighbourhood.  There  are  eight  gin-mills  Over 
There  as  against  two  sample-rooms  in  the  Old 
Town,  and  of  the  local  constabulary  two-thirds 
lead  exciting  lives  patrolling  the  Flats;  the  re- 
maining third  is  ordinarily  to  be  found  dozing  in 
the  backroom  of  Schwartz's,  and  if  roused  will 
answer  to  the  name  and  title  of  Pete  Willing, 
Sheriff  and  Chief  of  Police. 

Duncan  reviewed  both  sides  of  the  municipal 
face  with  fine  impartiality — the  Flats  last;  and 
turned  back  to  the  Old  Town.  "  There's  one 
thing,"  he  communed  as  he  reached  the  bridge: 
"  If  these  people  ever  find  me  out  they'll  run  me 
across  the  river — sure." 


MARGARET'S    DAUGHTER  77 

He  paused  there,  looking  up  and  down  the  val- 
ley with  contemplative  gaze;  and  it  was  there  I 
found  him. 

As  is  my  custom,  I  had  devoted  the  earlier  morn- 
ing hours  to  the  compilation  of  that  work  which  is 
to  gain  for  the  name  of  Littlejohn  a  trifle  more 
respect  than,  I  fear,  it  owns  in  Radville  nowadays; 
and  afterwards,  again  in  accordance  with  habit, 
had  started  out  for  my  morning  constitutional.  As 
I  was  about  to  leave  the  house  Miss  Carpenter 
waylaid  me  and,  in  a  voice  still  tremulous  from 
the  shock  of  yesterday,  asked  me  to  hunt  up  Jake 
Sawyer  in  the  Flats  and  tell  him  to  come  and  cut 
the  grass. 

I  was  not  in  the  least  unwilling,  for  the  walk 
was  not  long,  and  the  morning  very  pleasant — 
not  too  warm,  and  bright  with  the  smiling  spirit 
of  June.  I  don't  remember  feeling  more  cheerful 
and  at  peace  with  the  world  than  when  I  marched 
off  on  my  mission.  The  cloud  I  might,  of  course, 
have  anticipated:  clouds  always  come,  and  a  life- 
time has  taught  me  to  be  sceptical  of  that  tale 
about  the  silver  lining.  And  even  when  it  came  it 
seemed  no  more  depressing,  of  no  more  significant 
moment,  than  the  cloud  shadow  that  scurries  across 
a  wheat-field  with  no  effect  other  than  to  enhance 
the  beauty  of  the  sunshine  that  pursues  it. 

Old  Colonel  Bohun  was  the  cloud-shadow  of 
that  morning.  I  met  him  turning  into  Main  Street 


78  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

from  Mortimer — at  the  head  of  which  his  man- 
sion stands.  He  came  down  the  sidewalk,  but 
with  a  hint  of  haste  in  his  manner:  a  tall  old  man, 
bending  beneath  the  burden  of  his  years,  his  fierce 
old  face  and  iron-grey  hair  shaded  as  always  by 
the  black  slouch  hat  with  the  flapping  brim,  his 
rounded  shoulders  cloaked  with  the  black  Inver- 
ness cape  he  wore  summer  and  winter.  In  spite 
of  his  age  and  evident  decrepitude,  he  bodied  forth 
the  spirit  of  what  he  had  been,  and  none  could 
pass  him  without  knowledge  of  his  presence;  he 
drew  eyes  as  a  magnet  draws  filings,  and  drawing, 
held  them  in  respect.  I  doubted  if  there  were  a 
man  in  Radville  who  could  meet  the  old  colonel 
with  anything  but  a  mingling  of  fear  and  defer- 
ence— with  one  or  two  exceptions.  For  myself  I 
hated  him  heartily,  and  he,  looking  down  at  me 
from  the  peak  of  pride  whereon  his  iron  soul 
perched,  despised  me  with  equal  intensity.  So  we 
got  along  famously  at  our  infrequent  encounters. 
This  morning  I  caught  a  flash  of  fire  from  his 
red-rimmed  old  eyes,  and  told  myself  I  was  sorry 
for  whoever  crossed  his  path  before  he  returned  to 
his  lonely  castle.  It  was  his  habit  at  odd  intervals 
to  foray  down  the  village  streets  with  one  griev- 
ance or  another  rankling  in  his  bosom,  seeking 
some  unlucky  one  upon  whose  head  to  wreak  his 
resentment.  We  had  come  to  recognise  the  heavy, 
slow  tapping  of  his  thick  cane  as  a  harbinger  of 


MARGARET'S    DAUGHTER  79 

trouble,  even  as  you  might  prognosticate  a  thun- 
derstorm from  the  rumbling  beneath  the  horizon. 

I  saw  he  recognised  me  and  gave  him  a  civil 
salute,  which  he  returned  with  a  brusque  nod  and 
a  sharper,  "Good-morning,  Littlejohn,"  as  he 
passed.  Then  he  swung  into  Main  Street,  paral- 
leling my  course  on  the  opposite  sidewalk,  and 
went  thump-thumping  along,  darting  quick  glances 
hither  and  yon  beneath  his  heavy  brows,  like  some 
dark  incarnation  of  perverse  pride  and  passion. 

Partly  because  the  sight  of  him  sensibly  in- 
fluenced my  mood,  and  partly  because  inevitably 
he  made  me  think  of  Sam  Graham,  I  turned  off  at 
Beech  Street,  leaving  him  to  pursue  his  way  to- 
ward the  centre  of  town.  Graham's  one-horse 
drug-store  stood  on  Beech,  a  block  south  of  Main. 
That  being  the  least  promising  location  in  town 
for  a  business  of  any  sort,  Sam  had  naturally 
selected  it  when  he  concluded  to  set  up  shop.  If 
Sam  had  ever  in  his  life  displayed  any  symptoms 
of  business  sagacity,  Radville  would  never  have 
recovered  from  the  shock.  I  believe  it  was  Le- 
grand  Gunn,  our  only  really  certificated  village 
wit,  who  coined  the  epigram :  "  As  useless  as  to 
take  a  prescription  to  Graham's."  The  implica- 
cation  being  that  Graham  didn't  carry  sufficient 
stock  to  fill  any  prescription;  which  was  largely 
true;  he  couldn't;  he  hadn't  the  money  to  stock  up 
with.  What  little  he  took  in  from  time  to  time 


8o  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

went  in  part  to  the  support  of  Betty  and  himself, 
but  mainly  to  pay  interest  on  his  debts  and  buy 
raw  materials  for  models  of  his  thousand-and-one 
inventions.  Most  Radvillians  firmly  believed  that 
Sam  has  at  some  time  or  other  in  his  busy,  worth- 
less career  invented  everything  under  the  sun, 
practicable  or  impracticable — the  former  always 
a  few  days  after  somebody  else  had  taken  out 
patents  for  the  identical  device.  But  at  that  time 
no  one  believed  he  would  ever  make  a  cent  out  of 
any  one  of  the  children  of  his  ingenious  brain ;  nor 
was  I,  in  this  respect,  more  credulous  than  any  of 
my  fellow-townsmen. 

I  lingered  a  moment  outside  the  shop,  thinking 
of  the  change  that  had  come  over  it  since  the  death 
of  Margaret  Graham,  Betty's. mother.  For,  de- 
spite its  out-of-the-way  location,  the  shop  had  not 
always  been  unprofitable;  while  Margaret  lived 
(my  heart  still  ached  with  the  memory  of  her 
name)  Sam's  business  had  prospered.  She  had 
been  one  of  those  woman  who  can  rise  to  any 
emergency  in  the  interest  of  her  loved  ones;  the 
first  to  realise  Sam's  improvidence  and  lack  of 
executive  ability,  she  had  taken  hold  of  the  busi- 
ness with  a  firm  hand  and  made  it  pay — while  she 
lived.  It  has  never  ceased  to  be  a  source  of  won- 
dering speculation  to  me,  that  she,  with  her  gentle 
training,  so  wholly  aloof  from  every  thought  of 
commerce  or  economy,  should  have  proven  herself 


MARGARET'S   DAUGHTER  81 

so  thorough  and  level-headed  a  business  woman. 
There's  no  accounting  for  it,  indeed,  save  on  the 
theory  that  she  conceived  it  a  woman's  function  to 
make  up  for  man's  deficiencies;  Sam  needed  her, 
so  she  become  his  wife;  he  needed  a  manager,  so 
she  had  became  that  also.  .  .  . 

During  Margaret's  regime,  as  I  say,  the  shop 
had  thrived.  Sam  had  few  ill-wishers  in  Radville; 
the  trade  came  his  way.  Then  Betty  was  born 
and  Margaret  died.  .  .  . 

Most  of  this  I  have  on  hearsay.  I  left  Radville 
shortly  after  their  marriage  and  did  not  return 
until  some  months  after  Margaret's  burial.  By 
that  time  the  shop  had  begun  to  show  signs  of 
neglect;  its  stock  was  decimated,  its  trade  likewise. 
Sam  was  struggling  with  his  inventions  more 
fiercely  than  ever — seeking  forgetfulness,  I  always 
thought.  The  business  was  allowed  to  take  care 
of  itself.  He  had  always  a  serene  faith  in  his  to- 
morrows. 

Now  the  little  shop  had  been  far  distanced  by 
the  competition  of  Sothern  and  Lee.  It  was  twenty 
years  behind  the  times,  as  the  saying  is.  Small, 
darksome,  dreary  and  dingy,  it  served  chiefly  as  a 
living-room  for  Sam,  his  daughter,  and  his  cronies, 
as  well  as  for  his  workshop.  He  had  a  bench  and 
a  ramshackle  lathe  in  one  corner,  where  you  might 
be  sure  to  find  him  futilely  pottering  at  almost  any 
hour.  He  owned  the  little  building — or  that  por- 


82  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

tion  in  it  which  it  were  a  farce  to  term  the  equity 
above  the  mortgage — and  Betty  kept  house  for 
him  in  three  rooms  above  the  store. 

I  saw  nothing  of  him  as  I  stepped  across  the 
street,  and  was  wondering  if  he  were  at  home 
when,  through  the  small,  dark  panes  of  glass  in 
his  show  windows  I  discerned  his  white  old  head 
bobbing  busily  over  something  on  the  rear  coun- 
ter. I  pushed  the  door  open  and  entered.  He 
looked  up  with  his  never-failing  smile  of  welcome 
and  a  wave  of  his  hand. 

"Howdy,  Homer?  Come  in.  Well,  well,  I'm 
glad  to  see  you.  Sit  down — I  think  that  chair 
there  by  the  stove  will  hold  together  under  you." 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Sam?  "  I  asked. 

"  Fixin'  up  the  sody  fountain.  'Meant  to  get  it 
working  last  month,  Homer,  but  somehow  I  kind 
of  forgot." 

He  rubbed  away  briskly  at  the  single  faucet 
which  protruded  above  the  counter,  lathering  it 
briskly  with  a  metal  polish  that  smelt  to  Heaven. 

"  Do  much  sody  trade,  Sam?  " 

He  paused,  passing  his  worn  old  fingers  reflect- 
ively across  a  chin  snowy  with  a  stubble  of  neg- 
lected beard.  "  No,"  he  allowed  thoughtfully, 
"  not  so  much  as  we  used  to,  now  that  Sothern  and 
Lee  Ve  got  this  new-fangled  notion  of  puttin*  ice- 
cream in  a  nickel  glass  of  sody.  Most  of  the 
young  folks  go  there,  now,  but  still  I  get  a  call 


MARGARET'S    DAUGHTER  83 

flow  and  then — and  every  little  bit  helps."  He 
rubbed  on  ferociously  for  a  moment.  "  'Course, 
I'd  do  more,  likely,  if  I  carried  a  bigger  line  of 
flavours." 

"  How  many  do  you  carry?  " 

"  One,"  he  admitted  with  a  sigh:  "  vanilly." 

While  I  filled  my  pipe  he  continued  to  rub  very 
industriously. 

"  Why  don't  you  get  more?  ". 

He  flashed  me  one  of  his  pale,  genial  smiles. 
"  I'm  thinkin'  of  it,  Homer,  soon's  I  get  some 
money  in.  Next  week,  mebbe.  There's  a  man  in 
N'York  that  mebbe  can  be  int'rested  in  one  of  my 
inventions,  Roland  Barnette  says.  Mebbe  he'd  be 
willin'  to  put  a  little  money  in  it,  Roland  says,  and 
of  course  if  he  does,  I'll  be  able  to  stock  up  consid- 
erable." 

I  sighed  covertly  for  him.  He  rubbed,  hum- 
ming a  tuneless  rhythm  to  himself. 

"  Roland's  goin'  to  write  to  him  about  it." 

"  What  invention?  "  I  asked,  incredulous. 

Sam  put  down  his  bottle  of  polish  and  came 
round  the  counter,  beaming;  nothing  pleases  him 
better  than  an  opportunity  to  exhibit  some  one  of 
his  innumerable  models.  "  I'll  show  you,  Homer," 
he  volunteered  cheerfully,  shuffling  over  to  his 
work-bench.  He  rasped  a  match  over  its  surface 
and  applied  the  flame  to  a  small  gas-bracket  fixed 
to  the  wall.  A  strong  rush  of  gas  extinguished 


84  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

the  match,  and  he  turned  the  flow  half  off  before 
trying  again.  This  time  the  vapour  caught  and 
settled  to  a  steady,  brilliant  flame  as  white  as  and 
much  softer  than  acetylene. 

"There!"  he  said  in  triumph.  "What  d'ye 
think  of  that,  Homer?  " 

"  Why,"  I  said,  "  I  didn't  know  you  had  an 
acetylene  plant." 

"  No  more  have  I,  Homer." 

"  But  what  is  that,  then?  "  I  demanded. 

"  It's    my    invention,"    he    returned    proudly. 

"  I've  been  workin'  on  it  two  years,  Homer,  and 
only  got  it  goin'  yestiddy.  It's  going  to  be  a  great 
thing,  I  tell  you." 

"  But  what  is  it,  Sam?  " 

"It's  gas  from  crude  petroleum,  Homer. 
See  .  .  ."  he  continued,  indicating  a  tank  be- 
neath the  bench  which  seemed  to  be  connected 
with  the  bracket  by  a  very  simple  system  of  piping, 
broken  by  a  smaller,  cylindrical  tank.  "Ye  put 
the  oil  in  there — just  crude,  as  it  comes  out  of  the 
wells,  Homer;  it  don't  need  refinin' — and  it  runs 
through  this  and  down  here  to  this,  where  it's 
vaporised — much  the  same  's  they  vaporise  gaso- 
line for  autymobile  engines,  ye  know — and  then 
it  just  naturally  flows  up  to  the  bracket — and  there 
ye  are." 

"  It's  wonderful,  Sam,"  said  I,  wondering  if  it 
really  were. 


MARGARET'S   DAUGHTER  85 

"  And  the  best  part  of  it  is  the  economy, 
Homer.  A  gallon  will  run  one  jet  six  weeks,  day 
in  and  out.  And  simple  to  install.  I  tell  ye " 

"  Have  you  got  it  patented  yet?" 

"  Yes,  siree !  took  out  patents  just  as  soon  as  it 
struck  me  how  simple  it  'ud  be — more  than  two 
years  ago.  Only,  of  course,  it  took  time  to  work 
it  out  just  right,  'specially  when  I  had  to  stop  now 
and  then  'cause  I  needed  money  for  materials. 
But  it's  all  right  now,  Homer,  it's  all  right  now." 

"  And  you  say  Roland  Barnette's  writing  to 
some  one  in  New  York  about  it?  " 

"  Yes ;  he  promised  he  would.  I  explained  it  to 
Roland  and  he  seemed  real  int'rested.  He's  kind, 
very  kind." 

I  was  inclined  to  doubt  this,  and  would  prob- 
ably have  said  something  to  that  effect  had  not  a 
shadow  crossing  the  window  brought  me  to  my 
feet  in  consternation.  But  before  I  could  do  more 
than  rise,  Colonel  Bohun  had  flung  open  the  door 
and  stamped  in.  He  stopped  short  at  sight  of  me, 
misguided  by  his  near-sighted  eyes,  and  singled  me 
out  with  a  threatening  wave  of  his  heavy  stick. 

"Well,  sir!"  he  snarled.  "I've  come  for  my 
answer.  Have  you  sense  enough  in  your  addled 
pate  to  understand  that,  man?  I've  come  for  my 
answer ! " 

"  And  may  have  it,  whatever  it  may  be,  for  all 
of  me,"  I  told  him. 


86  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

His  face  flushed  a  deeper  red.  "  Oh,  it's  only 
you,  is  it,  Littlejohn?  I  took  you  for  that  fool 
Graham,  in  this  damned  dark  hole.  Where  is 
he?" 

I  looked  to  Graham  and  he  followed  the  direc- 
tion of  my  gaze  to  the  work-bench,  where  Sam 
stood  with  his  back  to  it,  his  worn  hands  folded 
quietly  before  him.  He  seemed  a  little  whiter 
than  usual,  I  thought;  and  perhaps  it  was  only 
my  fancy  that  made  him  appear  to  tremble  ever 
so  slightly.  For  he  was  quite  calm  and  self-pos- 
sessed— so  much  so  that  I  realised  for  the  first 
time  there  was  another  man  in  Radville  besides 
myself  who  did  not  fear  old  Colonel  Bohun. 

"  I'm  here,  colonel,"  he  said  quietly.  "  What  is 
it  you  wish?  " 

The  colonel  swung  on  him,  shaking  with  pas- 
sion. But  he  held  his  tongue  until  he  had  mas- 
tered himself  somewhat:  a  feat  of  self-restraint 
on  his  part  over  which  I  marvel  to  this  day. 

"  You  know  well,  Graham,"  he  said  presently. 
"  You  got  my  letter — the  letter  I  wrote  you  a  week 
ago?" 

"Yes,"  said  Sam,  with  a  start  of  comprehen- 
sion. "  Yes,  I  got  it." 

"Then  why  the  devil,  man,  don't  you  answer 
it?" 

Sam's    apologetic    smile    sweetened    his    face. 


MARGARET'S   DAUGHTER  87 

11  Why,"  he  said  haltingly — "  I'm  sure  I  meant  no 
offence,  but — you  see,  I'm  a  very  busy  man— ^1 
forgot  it." 

"The  hell  you  forge*  it.  D'ye  expect  me  to 
believe  that,  man?" 

"  I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to." 

Bohun  was  speechless  for  a  moment,  stricken 
dumb  by  a  second  seizure  of  fury.  But  again  he 
calmed  himself. 

"  Very  well.  I'll  swallow  that  insolence  for  the 
present " 

"  It  wasn't  meant  as  such,  I  assure " 

"Don't  interrupt  me!  D'you  hear?  .  .  . 
I've  come  for  my  answer.  Yes,  I've  come  down  to 
that,  Graham.  If  you  can't  accord  me  the  com- 
mon courtesy  of  a  written  reply — I've  come  to 
hear  it  from  your  mouth." 

Sam  nodded  thoughtfully.  "  Mebbe,"  he  said, 
"you  forgot  you  have  failed  to  accord  me  the 
common  courtesy  of  any  sort  of  a  communication 
whatever  for  twenty  years,  Colonel  Bohun.  Even 
when  my  wife,  your  daughter,  died,  you  ignored 
my  message  asking  you  to  her  funeral.  .  .  ." 

"  Be  silent!  "  screamed  the  colonel.  "  Do  you 
think  I'm  here  to  bandy  words  with  you,  fool?  I 
demand  my  answer." 

"  And  as  for  that,"  continued  Sam  as  evenly  as 
if  he  had  not  been  interrupted,  "  your  proposition 


88  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

was  so  preposterous  that  it  could  have  come  only 
from  you,  and  deserved  no  answer.  But  since  you 
want  it  formally,  sir,  it's  no." 

For  a  moment  I  feared  Bohun  would  have  a 
stroke.  The  back  of  the  chair  I  had  just  vacated 
and  his  stick  alone  supported  him  through  that 
dumb,  terrible  transport.  He  shook  so  violently 
that  I  looked  momentarily  to  see  the  chair  break 
beneath  him.  There  was  insanity  in  his  eyes. 
When  finally  he  was  able  to  articulate  it  was  in 
broken  gasps. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  he  stammered.  "  It's  a 
lie.  I  don't  believe  it.  It's  madness — the  girl 
wouldn't  be  so  mad  .  .  ." 

"What  is  it,  father?" 

I  don't  know  which  of  us  three  was  the  more 
startled  by  that  simple  question  in  Betty  Graham's 
voice;  Sam,  at  all  events,  showed  the  least  sur- 
prise; the  old  colonel  wheeled  toward  the  back  of 
the  store,  his  jaw  dropping  and  his  eyes  protruding 
as  though  he  were  confronted  with  a  ghost.  As, 
in  a  way,  he  was :  even  I  had  been  struck  by  that 
strange,  heartrending  similarity  to  her  mother's 
tone;  and  even  I  trembled  a  little  to  hear  that 
voice,  as  it  seemed,  from  beyond  the  grave. 

Betty  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase ;  alarmed 
by  the  noise  of  the  colonel's  raging,  she  had  stolen 
down,  unheard  by  any  of  us.  And  in  that  mo- 
ment I  realised  as  never  before  that  the  girl  had 


MARGARET'S    DAUGHTER  89 

more  of  her  mother  in  her  than  lay  in  that  marvel- 
lous reproduction  of  Margaret  Graham's  voice. 
As  she  waited  there  one  detected  in  her  pose  some- 
thing of  her  mother's  quiet  dignity,  in  her  eyes 
more  than  a  little  of  Margaret's  tragedy.  Of 
Margaret's  beauty  I  saw  scant  trace,  I  own;  but 
in  those  days  my  eyes  were  blinded  by  the  signs  of 
overwork  and  insufficient  nourishment  that  marred 
her  young  features,  by  the  hopeless  dowdiness  of 
her  garments. 

Abruptly  she  moved  swiftly  to  her  father's  side 
and  slipped  her  hand  into  his.  "  What  is  it, 
father?"  she  repeated,  eyeing  Colonel  Bohun 
coldly. 

I  thought  Sam's  eyes  filled.  His  lips  trembled 
and  he  had  to  struggle  to  master  his  voice.  He 
smiled  through  it  all,  tenderly  at  his  girl,  but  there 
was  in  that  smile  the  weakness  of  the  child  grown 
old,  the  dependence  of  the  man  whose  woman- 
folk  must  ever  mother  him. 

"  Why,  Betty,"  he  said,  tremulous — "  why, 
Betty,  your  grandfather  here  has  been  kind  enough 
to  offer  to  take  you  and  educate  you  and  make  a 
lady  of  you,  and — and  we  were  just  talking  it 
over,  dear,  just  talking  it  over." 

"  Do  you  mean  that?  "  she  flung  at  Bohun. 

He  straightened  up  and  held  himself  well  in 
hand.  "  Is  it  the  first  you  have  heard  of  it?  " 

"  Yes."     She  looked  inquiringly  at  her  father. 


go  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  her?"  Bohun  persisted 
harshly.  "  Were  you  afraid?  " 

"  No."  Sam  shook  his  head  slowly.  "  I  wasn't 
afraid.  But  it  was  unnecessary.  .  .  .  You  see, 
Betty,  Colonel  Bohun  is  willing  to  do  all  this  for 
you  on  several  conditions.  You  must  leave  me  and 
never  see  me  again ;  you  mustn't  even  recognise  me 
should  we  meet  upon  the  street;  you  must  change 
your  name  to  Bohun  and  never  permit  yourself  to 
be  known  as  Betty  Graham.  Then  you  must " 

"Never  mind,  daddy  dear,"  said  the  girl. 
"  That  is  enough.  I  know  now I  under- 
stand why  you  never  told  me.  It's  impossible. 
Colonel  Bohun  knew  that  when  he  made  the  offer, 
of  course ;  he  made  it  simply  to  harass  you,  daddy. 
It's  his  revenge.  .  .  ." 

She  looked  Bohun  up  and  down  with  a  glance  of 
contempt  that  would  have  withered  another  man, 
poor,  wan,  haggard  little  maid  of  all  work  that 
she  was. 

"And  that's  your  answer,  miss?"  he  snapped, 
livid  with  wrath. 

"  I  would  not,"  she  told  him  slowly,  "  accept  a 
favour  from  you,  sir,  if  I  were  starving.  .  .  ." 

Bohun  drew  himself  up.  "  Then  starve,"  he 
told  her;  and  walked  out  of  the  shop. 

I  gaped  after  his  retreating  figure.  It  seemed 
impossible,  incredible,  that  he  should  have  taken 
such  an  answer  without  yielding  to  a  fit  of  insensate 


MARGARET'S   DAUGHTER  91 

passion.  And  I  was  still  marvelling  when  I  heard 
Graham  saying  in  a  broken  voice:  "Betty! 
Betty,  my  little  girl !  " 

Then  I,  too,  went  away,  with  a  mist  before  my 
eyes  to  dim  the  golden  grace  of  June. 


VI 

INTRODUCTION  TO  MISS  CARPENTER 

ON  my  way  back  from  the  Flats  I  discovered 
Duncan  sitting  on  the  wall  of  the  bridge,  moodily 
donating  pebbles  to  the  water.  His  attitude  sug- 
gested preoccupation  with  unhappy  reflections,  a 
humour  from  which  the  sound  of  my  footsteps 
roused  him.  He  looked  up  and  caught  my  eye 
with  an  uncertain  nod,  as  though  he  half  recog- 
nised me — presumably  having  casually  noticed  me 
at  the  Bigelow  House  the  previous  evening. 

"  Good-morning,"  said  I  cheerfully,  with  a 
slight  break  in  my  stride  intended  craftily  to  con- 
vey the  impression  that  I  was  not  altogether  averse 
to  a  pause  for  gossip. 

He  said  "  Good-morning,"  sombrely. 

"A  pleasant  day,"  I  observed  spontaneously, 
stopping. 

"  Yes,"  he  agreed.  "  By  the  way,  have  you  a 
match  about  you?  " 

I  searched  my  pockets,  found  a  box  and  handed 
it  over. 

"  I've  been  perishing  for  a  .  .  ."  He  slid 
his  fingers  into  a  waistcoat  pocket,  as  one  who 
should  seek  a  cigarette-case;  but  the  hand  came 
forth  empty.  He  bit  his  remark  off  abruptly,  with 


INTRODUCTION  TO  MISS  CARPENTER    93 

a  blank  look  in  his  eyes  which  was  promptly  suc- 
ceeded by  an  expression  of  deepest  chagrin.  He 
got  up  and  with  a  little  bow  returned  the  box. 

"  I  forgot,"  he  said,  apologetic. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  can't  help  you  out,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right.  I'd  just  forgotten  that 
I  don't  smoke." 

I  pretended  not  to  notice  his  disconcertion. 
"You're  to  be  congratulated;  it's  a  shameful 
waste  of  time  and  money." 

"  A  filthy  habit,"  said  he  warmly. 

"  Indeed,  yes,"  I  chanted,  finding  my  pipe  and 
tobacco  pouch. 

He  caught  my  twinkle  as  I  filled  and  lighted, 
and  looked  away,  the  shadow  of  a  smile  lurking 
beneath  his  small,  closely  clipped  moustache. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  a  moment  later, 
regarding  me  with  more  interest,  *'  but — do  you 
live  here?" 

"Certainly.    Why?" 

"  I  was  sure  of  it,"  he  replied  soberly.  **  But 
don't  you  feel  a  bit  lonesome,  sometimes?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least.  Radville's  one  of  the  most 
interesting  places  on  this  side  of  the  footstool." 
He  sighed.  "  Indeed,"  I  insisted,  "  you  won't 
feel  any  more  lonely  after  you've  lived  here  a 
while,  than  I  do  now,  Mr.  Duncan." 

He  opened  his  eyes  at  my  acquaintance  with  his 
name,  but  jerked  his  head  at  me  comprehendingly. 


94  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"  To  be  sure,"  he  said.  "  You  would  know.  But 
I'm  only  beginning  to  realise  what  it  feels  like  to 
be  a  marked  man." 

"  I  hear  you  intend  to  make  Radville  your  per- 
manent residence,  Mr.  Duncan?" 

"It's  part  of  the  system,"  he  said  obscurely, 
"  It  may  prove  a  life  sentence." 

"  Don't  you  think  you'll  like  it  here?  " 

"Oh,  I'm  strong  for  Radville,"  he  declared 
earnestly.  "  It's  all  to  the  merry  ...  I  beg 
your  pardon." 

I  stared  curiously  to  see  him  colour  like  a  school- 
girl. "What  for?" 

"My  mistake,  sir;  I  forgot  myself  again.  I 
don't  use  slang." 

"  Oh !  "  I  commented,  wondering.  He  was  be- 
ginning to  puzzle  me. 

In  the  pause  the  air  began  to  rock  with  the 
heavy  clanging  of  the  clock  in  the  Methodist 
Church  steeple. 

"That's  noon,"  I  said.  "We'll  have  to  cut 
along:  dinner's  ready." 

Duncan  immediately  replanted  himself  firmly 
upon  the  parapet.  "  I  know  it,"  he  said  with 
some  indignation. 

Again  bewildered,  I  hesitated,  but  eventually 
advanced :  "  Our  ways  run  together,  Mr.  Dun- 
can, as  far  as  the  Bigelow  House.  My  name  is 
Littlejohn — Homer  Littlejohn." 


INTRODUCTION  TO  MISS   CARPENTER    95 

He  rose  again  to  take  my  hand  and  assured  me 
he  was  glad  to  make  my  acquaintance.  "  But,"  he 
added  morosely,  "  I'll  be  damned  if  I  go  back  to 
that  hotel  before  dinner's  over.  .  .  .  Great 
Scott!  I  forgot  again.  I  don't  swear!  " 

"  Have  you  any  other  unnatural  accomplish- 
ments?" I  inquired,  chuckling. 

"  I'm  so  full  of  'em  I  can  hardly  stick,"  he  as- 
sented gloomily.  "  I  don't  drink  or  smoke  or 
swear  or  play  pool  or  cards,  and  on  Sundays  I  go 
to  church." 

I  laughed  outright.  "  YouVe  come  to  the  right 
place  for  such  exemplary  virtues  to  be  fully  appre- 
ciated, Mr.  Duncan." 

"  That's  all  right,"  he  said  with  a  return  of  his 
indignation,  "  but  it  wasn't  in  the  bargain  that  I 
should  starve  to  death.  Do  you  realise,  Mr.  Lit- 
tlejohn,"  he  continued,  warming,  "  that  you  be- 
hold in  me  a  young  man  in  the  prime  of  health 
actually  on  the  point  of  wasting  visibly  away  to  a 
shadow  of  my  former  hardy  self?  It's  a  fact:  I 
am.  For  the  past  two  days  I've  had  nothing  to 
eat  except  railway  sandwiches  and  coffee  and  the 
kind  of  fodder  they  pitchfork  you  at  the  Bigelow, 
House.  And  I  came  here  with  a  mind  coloured 
with  rosy  anticipations  of  real  old-fashioned  coun- 
try cooking.  It's  an  outrage ! " 

"  Look  here,"  said  I :  "  why  not  come  home 
with  me  for  dinner?  I'll  be  glad  to  have  you, 


96  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

and  Miss  Carpenter  won't  mind  your  coming,  I'm 
sure." 

He  got  up  with  alacrity.  "  Those  are  the  first 
human  words  I've  heard  in  Radville,  sir!  I  ac- 
cept with  joy  and  gratitude.  Come — lead  me  to 
it!" 

Now,  Miss  Carpenter  doesn't  like  her  meals  de- 
layed ;  so  I  would  have  been  inclined  to  hasten  this 
Mr.  Duncan ;  but  he  saved  me  the  trouble. 

"  Miss  Carpenter?  "  he  asked  without  warning, 
as  we  hurried  up  Main  Street. 

"  My  landlady,  Mr.  Duncan." 

"  She  takes  boarders?  An  old  maid?  "  he  per- 
sisted eagerly. 

"An  elderly  spinster;  boarders  are  her  distrac- 
tion as  well  as  a  source  of  income." 

"  Do  you  think  she'd  take  me  in,  Mr.  Little- 
John?" 

"  I'm  sure  of  it.  There's  a  vacant  room    .    .    ." 

"Does  she  talk?" 

"  Moderately." 

"  Not  a  regular  walking  newspaper — no?  " 

"  Not  exactly " 

"  Then  I'm  afraid  it's  no  use,"  he  sighed. 

I  glanced  up  at  his  face,  but  it  was  inscrutable. 
"You — you  want  a  landlady  who  talks?"  I 
gasped,  incredulous. 

"  It's  one  of  the  rules,"  he  said,  again  ob- 
scurely. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  MISS  CARPENTER    97 

I  could  make  nothing  of  him.  And  had  I  any 
right  to  introduce  to  Hetty  Carpenter  a  guest  ,who 
came  without  credentials  and  talked  more  or  less 
like  a  lunatic  at  large? 

"  Mr.  Duncan "  I  began,  uncomfortable. 

"  Don't  say  it,"  he  anticipated  me.  "  I  know 
you  think  I'm  crazy — but  I'm  not.  You  would 
think  so,  naturally,  because  you're  the  only  man 
here  who's  ever  lived  away  from  Radville  long 
enough — not  counting  those  who  went  to  the 
World's  Fair " 

"  How  did  you  know?  " 

"  Bigelow  told  me  last  night;  said  you'd  be  glad 
to  meet  somebody  from  New  York.  I  hope  he's 

right.  I'm  glad,  personally.  .  .  .  You  see 

May  I  request  that  you  regard  this  as  confiden- 
tial?" 

"Yes— yes!" 

"  I've  come  to  Radville  to  make  my  fortune." 

The  confession  smote  me  witless:  I  could  only 
gape.  He  nodded  confirmation,  with  a  most  seri- 
ous mien.  At  length  I  found  strength  to  articu- 
late. "From  New  York ?" 

"  Yes.  It's  a  new  scheme.  You  see,  Mr.  Little- 
john,  matters  have  come  to  such  a  state  that  a 
city-bred  boy  practically  doesn't  stand  any  show 
on  earth  of  making  good  in  the  cities;  your  coun- 
try-bred boys  crowd  him  to  the  wall,  nine  times 
out  of  ten.  They  invade  us  in  hordes,  fresh  from 


98  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

the  open,  strong,  vigorous,  clear-headed,  ambi- 
tious. .  .  .  What  chance  have  we  got?  .  .  . 
IVe  been  figuring  it  out,  you  see,  and  I've  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  it's  my  only  salvation  to  get 
back  to  the  country  and  improve  some  of  the  op- 
portunites — the  golden  opportunities — that  your 
boys  have  neglected,  overlooked,  in  their  mad  de- 
sire to  invade  the  commercial  centres  of  the  coun- 
try." 

He  seemed  very  much  in  earnest;  I  was  watch- 
ing him  as  closely  as  I  might  without  making  my 
scrutiny  offensive ;  and  there  seemed  to  be  the  ring 
of  conviction  in  his  voice,  while  the  expression  of 
his  eyes  indicated  concentrated  thought.  And  how 
was  I  to  know,  then,  that  the  concentration  was 
due  to  the  necessity  of  invention? 

"  You  follow  me,  Mr.  Littlejohn?" 

"  I  was  here  first,"  I  corrected.  "Still,  there's 
more  in  what  you  say  than  perhaps  you  realise." 

"  If  I'd  made  this  discovery  originally  I'd  agree 
with  you,  sir.  But,  quite  to  the  contrary,  it  was 
pointed  out  to  me  by  one  of  the  shrewdest  business 
minds  in  the  United  States — a  man  who'd  been  a 
country  boy  to  begin  with.  And  I've  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  he's  right." 

"So  you're  here." 

"Here  I  am." 

"  And  what  do  you  propose  doing  ?  " 


INTRODUCTION  TO  MISS  CARPENTER    99 

"  I'm  reading  law,  Mr.  Littlejohn;  that  I  shall 
continue.  In  the  meantime,  I  shall  keep  my  eyes 
open.  At  any  day,  at  any  amount,  the  opportunity 
may  present  itself,  the  opportunity  I'm  looking 
for." 

"  Probably  you're  right,"  I  assented,  impressed, 
as  we  turned  a  corner. 

A  young  woman  in  a  very  attractive  linen  gown 
was  strolling  toward  us,  quite  prettily  engaged 
with  a  book  which  she  read  as  she  walked,  her 
fair  young  head  bowed  beneath  a  sunshade  which 
tinted  her  face  becomingly.  She  gave  me  a  shy 
smile  and  a  low-voiced  greeting  as  we  passed. 
Only  my  knowledge  of  the  young  woman  pre- 
vented me  from  being  blinded  by  her  engaging 
appearance. 

"  That,"  said  I,  when  we  were  out  of  earshot, 
."shows  you  what  a  furore  a  good-looking  young 
man  can  create  in  a  town  like  this.  Josie  Lock- 
wood  has  put  on  her  best  bib-and-tucker  to  go 
walking  in  this  afternoon,  on  the  off-chance  of 
meeting  you,  Mr.  Duncan." 

"  Flattery  note,"  he  commented.  "  Who's 
Josie  Lockwood?" 

"  Daughter  of  Blinky  Lockwood,  the  richest 
man  in  Radville." 

"Ah!"  he  said  cryptically. 

We  had  come  to  Miss  Carpenter's.     I  opened 


ioo  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

the  gate  for  him,  but  he  stood  aside,  refusing  to 
precede  me.  And  courtesy  in  the  young  folk  of 
to-day  warms  my  old  heart. 

He  had  as  much  for  Hetty  Carpenter.  Within 
an  hour  he  had  insinuated  himself  into  her  good 
graces  with  a  deftness,  an  ease,  that  astounded. 
Within  three  hours  he  was  established,  bag  and 
baggage,  in  her  very  best  room. 

And  thirty  minutes  after  she  had  helped  Dun- 
can unpack,  Hetty  had  to  run  downtown  to  buy 
a  spool  of  thread. 


VII 

A  WINDOW   IN   RADVILLE 

A  JEALOUS  secret,  which  has  never  heretofore 
been  divulged,  is  responsible  for  the  prosperity  of 
the  Radville  Citizen — at  least,  in  very  great  meas- 
ure. As  the  discoverer  of  this  recipe  for  circula- 
tion, I  have  kept  it  carefully  locked  in  my  guilty 
bosom  for  many  a  year,  and  if  I  now  betray  it  I 
do  so  without  scruple,  for  the  Gazette  is  now  es- 
tablished firmly  in  a  groove  of  popularity  from 
which  you'd  find  it  hard  to  oust  the  paper.  So 
here's  letting  the  cat  out  of  the  bag : 

The  policy  of  the  Citizen  has  long  been  to 
devote  its  columns  mainly  to  the  exploitation 
of  what  is  known  in  newspaper  terminology 
as  "  the  local  story."  Of  the  news  of  the  great 
outside  world  we're  parsimonious,  recognising  the 
fact  that  the  coronation  of  King  Edward  VII.  is 
a  matter  of  much  less  import  to  our  community 
than  the  holocaust  which  was  responsible  for  the 
destruction  of  Si  Higginbottom's  new  hen-house. 
Similarly  a  West  Indian  tornado  involving  losses 
running  up  into  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars 
sinks  into  relative  insignificance  as  compared  with 
the  local  weather  forecast  and  its  probable  effect 
on  crops  not  worth  ten  thousand;  while  the  en- 


102  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

forced  abdication  of  the  Sultan  of  Turkey  gets  a 
"stick"  (a  space  in  a  newspaper  column  about 
as  long  as  your  forefinger,  if  you  have  a  small 
hand)  as  contrasted  with  the  column  and  a  half 
assigned  to  the  death  of  old  Colonel  Bohun. 

Now,  naturally,  a  paper  in  a  small  country  town 
can't  afford  a  large  and  hustling  staff  of  enthusi- 
astic reporters;  and  very  probably  the  Citizen 
would  overlook  many  items  and  stories  of  burning 
local  interest  were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  the 
population  has  been  cunningly  made  to  serve  in  a 
reportorial  capacity  without  either  pay  or  its  own 
knowledge.  We  literally  get  our  local  news  by 
wireless;  and  from  dawn  to  dark  there's  a  con- 
stant supply  of  it  on  tap. 

It's  this  way:  our  editorial  rooms  are  in  the 
second  storey  of  a  building  overlooking  Court 
House  Square.  The  lower  floor  is  occupied  by 
the  Post  Office,  and  in  front  of  the  Post  Office 
are  a  hitching-post  and  two  long,  weather-scarred 
benches,  while  just  across  the  road — I  mean  street 
— on  the  boundary  of  the  square  proper — is  a 
near-bronze  drinking-fountain  and  watering-trough 
erected  from  the  proceeds  of  several  fairs  given 
by  the  local  branch  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  Naturally, 
indeed  inevitably,  all  Radville  gravitates  to  the 
Post  Office,  bringing  the  news  with  it,  and  stops 
to  discuss  it  on  the  steps  or  the  benches  or  by  the 
fountain;  and  the  acoustics  are  admirable.  With 


A  WINDOW    IN   RADVILLE  103 

a  window  open  and  scratch-pad  handy,  the  keen- 
eared  scribe  at  his  desk  in  our  offices  can  hardly 
fail  to  pick  up  every  scrap  of  town  information 
between  sunrise  and  dusk.  ...  Of  course,  in 
winter  the  supply's  not  so  good.  Winter  before 
last  we  all  suffered  with  colds  acquired  through 
keeping  the  windows  open;  and  last  winter  our 
circulation  fell  off  surprisingly  through  keeping 
them  closed.  This  winter  we  contemplate  cutting 
a  trap-door  through  the  floor  for  the  ostensible 
purpose  of  ventilation. 

And  thus  it  was  that  I  managed  to  hear  much 
of  Mr.  Duncan  while  I  myself  was  engaged  in 
formulating  an  estimate  of  the  young  man.  He 
engaged  the  popular  imagination  no  less  than  mine 
own,  although  I  was  more  intimately  associated 
with  him — as  a  fellow-resident  at  Hetty  Carpen- 
ter's. My  professional  duties  making  their  habit- 
ual demands  upon  my  time,  I  saw,  it  may  be,  less 
of  him  than  many  of  our  people.  Certainly  I 
learned  less  of  his  ways  from  first-hand  knowl- 
edge. But  from  my  desk  (it's  the  nearest  to  the 
window  right  above  the  Post  Office  door)  I  was 
enabled  to  keep  a  pretty  close  line  upon  his  habits 
and  movements,  during  the  first  fortnight  of  his 
stay  in  Radville. 

At  home  I  saw  him  with  unvarying  regularity 
at  meal-times  and  less  frequently  after  supper. 
Between  whiles  he  seemed  to  observe  a  fairly  reg- 


104  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

ular  routine:  in  the  morning,  after  breakfast,  he 
walked  abroad  for  his  health's  sake;  in  the'  after- 
noon and  evening  he  sequestered  himself  in  his 
room  for  the  pursuit  of  his  legal  studies.  About 
the  genuineness  of  these  latter  I  was  long  without 
a  question:  having  been  privileged  to  inspect  his 
room  I  found  it  redolent  of  an  atmosphere  of 
highly  commendable  application.  His  writing 
table  was  a  model  of  neatness,  and  his  store  of 
legal  treatises  impressed  one  vastly.  That  no  one, 
not  even  Hetty  Carpenter,  ever  saw  the  room 
without  remarking  the  open  volume  of  "  The  Law 
of  Torts,"  with  its  numerous  pages  painstakingly 
spaced  by  slips  of  paper  by  way  of  bookmarks,  is 
an  attested  fact.  That  it  was  always  the  same 
volume  is  less  widely  known. 

Less  directly  (that  is  to  say,  via  my  window)  I 
learned  of  him  compendiously  from  sources  which 
would  have  been  anonymous  but  for  my  long  ac- 
quaintance with  the  voices  of  the  townspeople. 
...  I  write  these  pages  at  my  desk  at  home 
and,  if  truth's  to  be  told,  somewhat  surreptitiously; 
but  with  these  voices  ringing  in  my  memory's  ear 
I  seem  still  to  be  sitting  at  my  erstwhile  desk  by 
the  window,  looking  out  over  Court  House  Square, 
chewing  the  rubber  heel  of  my  pencil  the  while  I 
listen.  It's  summer  weather  and  there's  a  smell  in 
the  air  of  dust  and  heat;  the  square  simmers  and 
shimmers  in  unclouded  sunshine,  its  many  green 


A  WINDOW    IN    RADVILLE  105 

plots  of  grass  a  trifle  grey  and  haggard  with  dust, 
the  flagstaff  with  its  two  flanking  cannon  by  the 
bandstand  in  the  middle  wavering  slightly  in 
the  haze  of  heat;  there  are  two  rigs,  a  farm- 
wagon  and  a  buckboard,  hitched  to  the  post  be- 
low, and  some  boys  are  squirting  water  on  one 
another  by  holding  their  hands  over  the  lips  of 
the  fountain  across  the  way.  Immediately  oppo- 
site, on  the  far  side  of  the  square,  the  Court  House 
rises  proudly  in  all  the  majesty  of  its  columned 
front  and  clapboarded  sides;  farther  along  there's 
the  Methodist  Church,  very  severe,  with  its  rows 
of  sheds  to  one  side  for  the  teams  of  the  more 
rural  members.  Behind  them  all  bulk  our  hills, 
dim  and  purple  against  the  overwhelming  blue  of 
the  sky.  It's  very  quiet:  there  are  few  sounds, 
and  those  few  most  familiar:  the  raucous  war-cry 
of  a  rooster  somewhere  on  the  outskirts  of  town; 
an  intermittent  thudding  of  hoofs  in  the  inch-deep 
dust  of  the  roadway;  Miles  Stetson  wringing  faint 
but  genuine  shrieks  of  agony  from  his  cornet,  in 
a  room  behind  the  Opery  House  on  the  next 
street;  periodically  a  shuffle  of  feet  on  the  side- 
walk below;  less  frequently  the  whine  of  the 
swinging  doors  at  Schwartz's  place;  above  it  all, 
perhaps,  the  shrill  but  not  unpleasant  accents  of 
Angle  Tuthill  as  she  pauses  on  the  threshold 
downstairs  and  injects  surprising  information  into 
the  nothing-reluctant  ears  of  Mame  Garrison. 


106  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"...  He's  got  six  suits  of  clothes,  three 
for  summer  and  three  for  winter,  and  two  others 
to  wear  to  parties — one  regular  full-dress  suit 
and  another  without  any  tails  on  the  coat  that  he 
told  Miss  Carpenter  was  a  dinner-coat,  but  Ro- 
land Barnette  says  he  must've  meant  a  Tuxedo, 
because  nobody  wears  that  kind  of  clothes  except 
at  night;  so  how  could  it  be  a  dinner-coat?  .  .  . 
And  Miss  Carpenter  told  Ma  he's  got  twelve 
striped  shirts  and  eight  white  ones  and  dozens  of 
silk  socks  and  two  dozen  neckties  and  handker- 
chiefs till  you  can't  count  and  .  .  ." 

Mame  punctuates  this  monologue  with  a  regu- 
lar and  excusable  "My  land!"  and  the  young 
voices  fade  away  into  the  mid-summer  afternoon 
quiet.  I  am  free  to  resume  my  interrupted  flight 
of  fancy,  but  I  refrain.  The  atmosphere  is  sopo- 
riferous,  hardly  conducive  to  editorial  inspiration, 
and  I  find  the  commingled  flavours  of  red-cedar, 
glue  and  rubber  quite  nourishing. 

Presently  Dr.  Mortimer,  the  minister,  comes 
down  the  street  in  company  with  his  deacon, 
Blinky  Lockwood.  They  are  discussing  someone 
in  subdued  tones,  but  I  catch  references  to 
a  worthy  young  man  and  the  vacancy  in  the 
choir. 

Josie  Lockwood  rustles  into  hearing  with  Bessie 
Gabriel  in  tow.  Josie  is  rattling  volubly,  but  with 
a  hint  of  the  confidential  in  her  tone.  She  insists 


A  WINDOW   IN   RADVILLE  107 

that:  "  Of  course,  I  never  let  on,  but  every  time 
we  meet  I  can  just  feel  him  looking  and  .  .  ." 

Bessie  interposes :  "  Why,  Tracey  Tanner's 
just  crazy  for  fear  he'll  take  on  with  Angie." 

I  can  see  Josie's  head  toss  at  this.  "  I  bet  he 
don't  know  what  Angie  Tuthill  looks  like.  That's 
too  absurd  .  .  ." 

"  Absurd  "  is  Josie's  newest  word.  It's  a  very 
good  word,  too,  but  sometimes  I  fear  she  will 
wear  it  threadbare.  It  closes  her  remarks  as  the 
two  girls  dart  into  the  Post  Office,  and  there  is 
peace  for  a  time;  then  they  emerge  giggling,  and 
I  hear  Josie  declare :  "  I'd  get  Roland  Barnette 
to  do  it,  but  he's  so  jealous.  He  makes  me 
tired." 

Bessie's  response  is  inaudible. 

"  Well,"  Josie  continues,  "  I'm  simply  not  go- 
ing to  send  them  out  until  I  meet  him.  Father 
said  I  could  give  it  a  week  from  Saturday,  but  I 
won't  unless " 

Bessie  interrupts,  again  inaudibly. 

"Of  course  I  could  do  that,  but  ...  if  I 
just  said  '  Miss  Carpenter  and  guests '  that  nosey 
old  Homer  Littlejohn  'd  think  I  meant  him  too, 
and  if  I  only  said  'guest'  it'd  look  too  pointed. 
Don't  you  think  so?" 

To  my  relief  they  pass  from  hearing,  and  I  feel 
for  my  pipe  for  comfort.  Anyway,  I  never  did 
like  Josie  Lockwood.  .  .  .  Smoking,  I  medi- 


108  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

tate  on  the  astonishing  power  of  personality. 
Here  is  Mr.  Nathaniel  Duncan  no  more  than  a 
fortnight  in  our  midst  (the  phrase  is  used  cal- 
lously, as  something  sacred  to  country  journalism) 
and,  behold!  not  yet  has  the  town  ceased  to  dis- 
cuss him.  The  control  he  has  over  the  local  mind 
and  .imagination  is  certainly  wonderful :  the  more 
so  since  he  has  apparently  made  no  effort  to  at- 
tract attention;  rather,  I  should  say,  to  the  con- 
trary. Quiet  and  unassuming  he  goes  his  way, 
minding  his  own  business  as  carefully  as  we  would 
mind  it  for  him,  with  all  the  good  will  in  the 
world,  if  only  we  could  find  out  what  it  is.  But 
we  can't  leave  him  alone.  .  .  . 

Tracey  Tanner  interrupts  my  musings. 

"  Hello !  "  he  twangs,  like  a  tuneless  banjo. 

"  'Lo,  Tracey."  This  lofty  and  blase  greeting 
can  come  from  none  other  than  Roland  Barnette. 

"Where  you  goin'?" 

"  Over  to  the  railway  station." 

"What  for?" 

"To  give  you  something  to  talk  about.  I'm 
going  to  send  a  telegram  to  a  friend  of  mine  in 
Noo  York." 

"  Aw,  you  ain't  the  only  one  can  send  telegrams. 
Sam  Graham  sent  one  just  now." 

"  He  did!" 

"  Uh-huh.  I  was  sort  of  hangin'  round,  when 
he  came  in,  and  I  seen  him  send  it  myself." 


A  WINDOW   IN   RADVILLE  109 

"  Sam  Graham  telegraphing  1  Do  you  know; 
who  to,  Tracey?"  Roland's  superiority  is  wear- 
ing thin  under  contact  with  his  curiosity.  This 
surprising  bit  of  news  makes  him  distinctly  more 
affable  and  inclined  to  lower  himself  to  the  social 
level  of  the  son  of  the  livery-stable  keeper. 

As  for  myself,  I  am  inclined  to  lean  out  of  the 
window  and  call  Tracey  up,  lest  he  get  out  of 
hearing  before  I  hear  the  rest  of  it.  Fortunately 
I  am  not  thus  obliged  to  compromise  my  dignity. 
The  two  are  at  pause. 

"  Gimme  a  cigarette  'nd  I'll  tell  you,"  bargains 
Tracey  shrewdly.  "  Lew  Parker  told  me  after 
Sam'd  gone." 

The  deal  is  put  through  promptly. 

"  He  was  telegraphin'  to Got  a  match?" 

For  once  I  am  in  sympathy  with  Roland,  whose 
tone  betrays  his  desire  to  wring  Tracey's  exas- 
perating neck. 

"  Aw,  he  was  only  telegraphing  to  Gresham  an' 
Jones  for  some  sody  water  syrups." 

"Where'd  he  get  the  money?"  There's  fine 
scorn  in  Roland's  comment. 

"  I  dunno,  but  he  handed  Lew  a  five-dollar  bill 
to  pay  for  the  message." 

**  Well,  if  Sam  Graham's  got  any  money  he'd 
better  hold  on  to  it,  instead  of  buying  sody-water 
syrups.  I  guess  Blinky  Lockwood  '11  get  after 
him  when  he  finds  it  out.  He  owes  Blinky  a  note 


I  io  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

at  the  bank  and  it's  coming  due  in  a  day  or  two 
and  Blinky  ain't  going  to  renew,  neither." 

"  Sam  seemed  cheerful  'nough.  Anyhow,  it 
ain't  my  funeral." 

I  have  now  something  to  think  about,  indeed, 
and  am  more  than  half  inclined  to  stroll  up  to 
Graham's  and  find  out  what  has  happened,  on  my 
own  account,  when  the  voices  of  Hi  Nutt  and 
Watty  the  tailor  drift  up  to  me.  The  cronies  are 
coming  down  for  their  regular  afternoon  session 
on  the  Post  Office  benches — a  function  which  takes 
place  daily,  just  as  soon  as  the  sun  gets  round  be- 
hind the  building,  so  that  the  seats  are  shaded. 
And  I  pause,  true  to  the  ethics  of  journalism;  it's 
my  duty  not  to  leave  just  yet. 

Surprisingly  enough  these  two  likewise  are  dis- 
cussing Sam  Graham.  At  least  I  can  deduce  noth- 
ing else  from  Hiram's  first  words,  though  their 
subject  is  for  the  moment  nameless. 

"Yes,  sir;  he's  the  poorest  man  in  this  town." 

"  Yes,"  Watty  quavers;  "  yes,  I  guess  he  be." 

"  An'  he's  got  no  more  business  sense  into  him 
than  God  give  a  goose." 

"No,  I  guess  he  ain't." 

"  Why,  look  at  the  way  things  has  run  down  at 
his  store  since  Margaret  died.  She  kept  things 
a-runnin'  while  she  was  alive." 

"  Yes,  she  was  a  fine  woman,  Margaret  Bohun 


A  WINDOW   IN   RADVILLE  in 

"  An'  they  ain't  no  doubt  about  it,  Sam  had 
money  into  the  bank  when  she  died.  But  ever 
sinst  then  it's  been  all  go  out  and  no  come  in  with 
him.  He  keeps  fussin'  and  fussih'  with  them  in- 
ventions of  his,  but  no  one  ever  heard  tell  of  his 
gettin'  anything  out  of  'em." 

"  And  what'd  he  do  with  all  the  money  he  had 
when  Margaret  died?" 

"  Spent  it,  what  he  didn't  lend  and  give  away 
and  lose  endorsin'  notes  for  his  friends  and 
then  havin'  to  pay  'em.  An'  speakin'  of  notes, 
I  heard  Roland  Barnette  say,  t'other  day, 
that  old  Sam  had  a  note  comin'  due  to  the 
bank,  an'  Blinky  wasn't  goin'  to  renew  it  any 
more." 

"  'Course  Sam  can't  pay  it." 

"  Certain-ly  he  can't.  I  was  in  his  store  day 
before  yestiddy  an'  they  wasn't  nobody  come  in 
for  nothin'  while  I  was  there.  He  don't  do  no 
business  to  speak  of." 

"How  long  was  you  there,  Hi?" 

"  From  nine  o'clock  to  noon." 

"What  doin'?" 

"Nuthin';  jes'  settin'  round." 

"  I  seen  him  to-day  goin'  into  the  bank.  Guess 
he  must  Ve  gone  to  see  Lockwood  'bout  thet 
note." 

"Well,  I  don't  envy  him  his  call  on  Blinky 
Lockwood  none." 


112  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

"Mebbe  he  went  in  to  deposit  his  coupons," 
Watty  chuckled. 

Hiram  snorted  and  there  was  silence  while  he 
filled  and  lit  his  pipe. 

"  I  hearn  tell  this  morninV'  he  resumed,  "  that 
Josie  Lockwood's  goin'  to  give  a  party  next 
week."  . 

"  Yes,  I  hearn  it  too.  Angie  Tuthill  was  talkin' 
'bout  it  to  Mame  Garrison  up  to  Leonard  and 
Call's.  She  said  they  was  goin'  to  have  the  big- 
gest time  this  town  ever  see.  Goin'  to  decyrate 
the  grounds  with  lanterns  an'  have  ice  cream  sent 
from  Phillydelphy,  and  cakes,  too.  Can't  make 
out  what's  come  into  Blinky  to  let  that  gal  of  his 
waste  money  like  that." 

"I  figger,"  says  Hiram  after  a  sapient  pause, 
"she  must  be  gettin'  it  up  for  thet  New  York 
dood." 

"Duncan?" 

"  Uh-huh." 

"  I  didn't  know  he  was  'quainted  with  the  Lock- 
woods." 

"  I  didn't  know  he  was  'quainted  with  nobody." 

"  Nobody  'ceptin'  Homer  Littlejohn  an'  Hetty 
Carpenter,  an'  they  don't  seem  to  know  much 
about  him.  I  call  him  darn  cur'us.  Hetty  says 
he  allus  a-settin'  in  his  room,  a-studyin'  an' 
a-studyin'  an'  a-studyin'." 

"  He  goes  walkin'  mornin's,  Hetty  told  me." 


A  WINDOW   IN   RADVILLE  113 

"Wai,  he  don't  come  downtown  much.  No- 
body hardly  ever  sees  him  'cept  to  church." 

Hiram  ponders  this  profoundly,  finally  deliver- 
ing himself  of  an  opinion  which  he  has  never  for- 
saken. "  I  claim  he's  a  s'picious  character." 

"  Don't  look  to  me  as  though  he  knew  'nough 
to  be  much  of  anythin'." 

"  Wai,  now,  if  he's  a  real  student  an'  they  ain't 
no  outs  'bout  him,  what  in  tarnation's  he  doin' 
here?  Thet's  jest  what  I'd  like  to  have  somebody 
tell  me,  Watty." 

"Hetty  sez  he  sez  he  wants  a  quiet  place  to 
study." 

Hiram  snorts  with  scorn.  "  Oh,  fid-del !  You 
don't  catch  no  Noo  York  young  feller  a-settlin' 
down  in  Radville  unless  he's  crazy  or  somethin' 
worse." 

"  'Tain't  no  use  tellin'  Hetty  Carpenter  thet." 

"  No;  if  anybody  sez  a  word  agin  him  she  shets 
'em  right  up." 

'  'Tain't  only  Hetty,  but  all  the  wimmin's  on 
his  side." 

"  Thet's  proof  enough  to  me  he  ain't  right." 

"  Wimmin,"  says  Watty,  as  the  result  of  a  pe- 
riod of  philosophical  consideration,  "  is  all  crazy 
about  clothes.  When  a  feller's  got  good  clothes 
you  can't  make  them  see  no  harm  into  him,  no 
matter  what  he  is.  I  pressed  some  of  Duncan's 
last  Satiddy.  I  never  see  clothes — such  goods  and 


ii4  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

linin's.  They  was  made  for  him,  too — made  by  a 
tailor  on  Fifth  Avenue,  Noo  York.  I  fergit  the 
name  now." 

"Wai,  Roland  Barnette  sez  they  ain't  stylish. 
He  sez  they're  too  much  like  an  undertaker's  git- 
up." 

"Wai,  Roland  oughter  know.  He's  the  fan- 
ciest dressed-up  feller  in  the  county." 

"  Yes,  I  guess  he  be." 

The  subject  apparently  languishes,  but  I  know 
that  it  still  occupies  their  sage  meditations;  and 
presently  this  is  demonstrated  by  Hiram,  who  ex- 
pectorates liberally  by  way  of  preface. 

"  When  this  cuss  Duncan  fust  come  here,"  he 
says  with  a  self-contained  chuckle,  "  ev'rybody  but 
me  figgered  he  had  stacks  of  money.  Guess  they 
be  singin'  a  different  tune,  now,  sinst  he's  been 
goin'  round  askin'  for  work." 

This  is  news  to  me,  and  I  sit  up,  sharing 
Watty's  astonishment. 

"  Be  he  a-doin' thet,  Hiram?" 

"That's  what  he's  been  a-doin'." 

"  Funny  I  missed  hearin'  about  it." 

"  He  only  started  this  mornin'.  He  went  to 
Sothern  and  Lee's  and  Leonard  and  Call's  and 
Godfrey's — 'nd  then  I  guess  he  must  'ev  quit  dis- 
couraged. They  wouldn't  none  of  them  give  him 
nothin'.  Leastways,  thet's  what  they  said  after 
he'd  gone  out.  He  didn't  give  anybody  a  reel 


A  WINDOW   IN   RADVILLE  115 

chance  to  say  anythin'.  I  was  in  Leonard  and  Call's 
and  he  came  in  an'  asked  for  a  job,  but  the  min- 
ute Len  looked  at  him  he  turned  right  round  and 
slunk  out  without  a-waitin'  for  Len  to  say  a 
word."  Hiram  smoked  in  huge  enjoyment  of  the 
retrospect.  "  He's  the  curiousest  critter  we  ever 
had  in  this  town." 

"  Yes,"  agrees  Watty,  "  I  guess  he  be." 

At  this  juncture  comes  an  interruption;  Tracey 
Tanner  returns,  hot-foot.  Either  he  has  been 
running,  or  his  breathlessness  is  due  to  excitement. 
Before  the  two  upon  the  bench  he  pauses  in  agi- 
tated glee,  a  bearer  of  tremendous  tidings. 

"  Hello,"  he  pants. 

"Now,  you  Tracey  Tanner,"  Hiram  cuts  in 
sharply,  "  you  run  'long  an'  don't  be  a-botherin' 
round.  Seems  like  a  body  never  can  git  a  chance 
to  rest,  with  you  children  allus  a-buttin'  in " 

"  Aw,  shet  up,"  says  Tracey  dispassionately. 
"  I  only  wanted  to  tell  you  the  news." 

Watty  quavers :    "  What  news,  Tracey?  " 

"Well,"  says  the  boy,  "I'll  tell  you,  Watty, 
but  I  wouldn't  Ve  told  him,  after  what  he 
said." 

"But  what's  the  news,  Tracey?"  There  is 
suspense  in  the  iteration. 

"  Well,  seein's  it's  you,  Watty " 

"  You  Tracey  Tanner,  you  run  'long  and  stop 
your  jokin' !  "  interrupts  Hiram  with  authority. 


Ii6  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"  'Tain't  no  joke;  it's  news,  I'm  tellin'  you. 
Sa-ay,  what  d'ye  think,  Watty  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Tracey,  yes?    What  is  it,  boy?  " 

"Thet— Noo— York— dood,"  drawls  Tracey, 
"  is  a-workin'  for  Sam  Graham !  " 

A  dramatic  pause  ensues.  I  rise  and  find  my 
coat. 

"  Tracey  Tanner,"  shrills  Hiram,  "  be  you 
a-tellin'  the  truth?" 

"  Kiss  my  hand  and  cross  my  heart  and  vow 
Honest  Injun,  I  seen  him  up  there  just  now  in  the 
store,  Watty,  tendin'  the  sody  fountain." 

"  Wai,"  says  Hiram,  rising,  "  I  don't  believe  a 
word  of  it,  but  if  it's  true  we  better  be  goin'  round 
to  see,  Watty,  'cause  it  ain't  a-goin'  to  last  long. 
He  won't  stay  after  he  finds  out  Sam  ain't  got  no 
money  to  pay  his  wages  with." 


VIII 

THE  MAN   OF   BUSINESS   IN   EMBRYO 

THERE'S  no  questioning  the  fact  that  two  weeks 
of  Radville  had  driven  Duncan  to  desperation ;  on 
the  morning  of  the  fifteenth  day  he  wakened  in 
his  room  at  Miss  Carpenter's  and  lay  for  a  time 
abed  staring  vacantly  at  the  gaudily  papered  ceil- 
ing, not  through  laziness  remaining  on  his  back, 
but  through  sheer  inertia.  The  prospect  of  rising 
to  ramble  through  another  purposeless,  empty  day 
appalled  his  imagination;  it  had  been  all  very  well 
when  the  humour  of  his  project  intrigued  him, 
when  the  village  was  a  novelty  and  its  inhabitants 
"  types "  to  be  studied,  watched,  analysed  and 
classified  with  secret  amusement;  but  now  he  felt 
that  he  had  already  exhausted  its  possibilities;  he 
was  a  foreigner  in  thought  and  instinct,  had  as 
little  in  common  with  Radvillians  as  any  newly 
imported  Englishman  would  have  had.  In  plain 
language,  he  was  bored  to  the  point  of  extinction. 

"  Why,"  he  reflected  aloud,  "  it  doesn't  seem 
reasonable,  but  I'm  actually  looking  forward  to 
the  delirious  dissipation  of  church  next  Sunday! 

"Me?     .     .     . 

"  If  Kellogg  could  only  see  me  now  I" 
117 


ii8  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

He  laughed  mirthlessly. 

"  I  must  have  done  something  to  deserve  this 
in  my  misspent  life  .  .  . 

"  Wonder  if  nothing  ever  happens  here  ?  .  .  . 
I'd  give  a  whole  lot,  if  I  had  it,  for  a  good  rous- 
ing fire  on  Main  Street — the  Bigelow  House,  for 
choice.  .  .  . 

"And  it's  got  me  to  the  point  of  drooling  to 
myself,  like  those  fellows  you  read  about  who  get 
lost  in  the  desert.  .  .  . 

"  Come !  Get  out  of  this !  And,  my  boy,  re- 
member to  *  count  that  day  lost  whose  low  de- 
scending sun  sees  nothing  accomplished,  nothing 
done.'  .  .  . 

"  Probably  misquoted,  at  that." 

Sullenly  he  rose  and  dressed. 

He  was  late  at  the  breakfast  and  silent  and  re- 
served throughout  that  meal.  Poor  Miss  Car- 
penter thought  him  dissatisfied  and  hung  round 
his  chair,  purring  with  a  solicitude  that  almost 
maddened  him.  As  soon  as  possible  he  made  his 
escape  from  the  house. 

The  walk  he  indulged  in  that  morning  took  him 
in  a  wide  circle:  south  on  the  road  to  the  Gap, 
then  eastwards,  crossing  the  railroad  and  the 
river,  north  through  a  smiling  agricultural  region, 
east  to  the  Flats,  and  so  across  the  stone  bridge  to 
the  Old  Town  once  more.  He  was  trudging  up 
Main  Street  toward  Centre  shortly  after  eleven — 


THE  MAN   OF   BUSINESS  IN   EMBRYO      119 

hot,  a  little  tired,  and  utterly  disgusted.  The  ex- 
ercise, instead  of  exhilarating,  had  depressed  him; 
the  quickened  flow  of  blood  through  his  veins,  the 
vigour  of  the  clean  air  he  inhaled,  demanded  of 
him  action  of  some  sort;  and  he  had  nothing  what- 
ever to  do  with  himself  all  afternoon  save  drowse 
over  "  The  Law  of  Torts." 

Recognition  of  Leonard  and  Call's  familiar 
shop-front  fired  him  with  a  spirit  of  adventure 
and  enterprise.  He  stopped  short,  thoughtfully 
rubbing  his  small  moustache  the  wrong  way,  his 
vision  glued  to  the  embarrassingly  candid  window 
displays. 

"  It'd  be  an  awful  thing  for  me  to  do     .     .     . 

"  Think  of  yourself,  man,  jumping  counters  in 
and  out  amongst  all  those — those  Things!  like  a 
lunatic  monkey  performing  on  a  Monday  morn- 
ing's clothes  line!  .  .  ." 

He  thought  deeply,  and  sighed.  "  It  ain't 
moral.  .  .  . 

"  But  it's  one  of  the  rules,  it  must  be  did. 
Harry  said  a  ribbon  clerk  was  a  social  equal.  .  .  . 

"  Come,  now !  No  more  shennanigan !  Brace 
up !  Be  a  man !  .  .  . 

"  A  man  ?  That's  the  whole  trouble :  I  am  a 
man;  I've  got  no  business  in  a  place  like  that." 

He  turned  and  moved  away  slowly.  But  the 
idea  had  him  by  the  heels.  He  struggled  against 
a  growing  resolution  to  return.  Then  enlighten- 


120  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

ment  came  to  him  suddenly.  He  paused  again, 
grappling  with  this  amazing  revelation  of  self. 

"  Great  Scott  I  Harry  was  right,  damn  him ! 
He  said  this  place  would  reconstruct  me  from  the 
inside  out  and  vice  versa,  and  by  jinks!  it  has. 
I  actually  want  to  work!  .  .  . 

"  Can  you  beat  that — me!  " 

He  swung  back  to  Leonard  and  Call's,  mentally 
reviewing  his  instructions. 

"  Let's  see.  I  was  to  wait  at  least  a  month,  to 
let  the  shopkeepers  get  accustomed  to  the  sight  of 
me.  .  .  .  Hmm.  .  .  .  Harry  certainly  has  a 
cute  way  of  expressing  his  thought.  .  .  .  But  it: 
can't  be  helped;  I  can't  wait.  If  I  do,  I'll  throw 
up  the  job.  .  .  . 

"  I'm  to  walk  in  and  say,  politely :  '  I'm  look- 
ing for  employment.  If  at  any  time  you  should 
have  an  opening  here  that  you  can  ofer  me,  I  shall 
endeavour  to  give  satisfaction.  Good-day.'  .  .  . 

"  But  be  careful  not  to  press  it.  Just  say  it  and 
get  right  out.  .  .  ." 

With  the  air  of  a  man  who  knows  his  own 
mind  he  pulled  open  the  wire  screen-door  and 
strode  in. 

Two  minutes  later  he  emerged,  breathing  hard, 
but  with  the  glitter  of  determination  in  his  eye. 

"  I  wouldn't  Ve  believed  I  could  get  away 
with  it.  Here  goes  for  the  next  promising  open- 
ing." 


THE  MAN   OF  BUSINESS  IN   EMBRYO     121 

He  headed  for  Sothern  and  Lee's  drug-store. 

"  Wonder  what  that  fellow  would  have  said  if 
I'd  had  the  nerve  to  wait  and  listen.  .  .  ." 

In  the  drug-store  he  experienced  less  difficulty 
in  making  his  speech  and  exit;  he  flattered  himself 
that  he  accomplished  both  gracefully,  even  im- 
pressively. And  indeed  you  may  believe  he  left 
a  gaping  audience  behind  him.  So  likewise  at 
Godfrey's  notions  and  stationery  shop. 

As  he  emerged  from  the  latter  the  resonant 
clamour  of  the  Methodist  Church  clock  drove  him 
home  for  dinner,  hungry  and  glowing  with  self- 
approbation.  At  all  events,  no  one  had  refused 
him:  he  had  not  been  set  upon  and  incontinently 
kicked  out.  He  felt  that  he  was  getting  on. 

"  Now  this  afternoon,"  he  mused,  "  I'll  wind 
up  the  job.  By  night  everyone  in  town  will  know 
I  want  work." 

But  if  he  had  thought  a  moment  he  would  have 
realised  that  he  might  have  spared  himself  the 
trouble;  the  consummation  he  so  earnestly  desired 
was  already  being  brought  about  by  resident  and 
recognised,  if  unofficial,  agents  for  the  dissemina- 
tion of  news. 

It  was  two  o'clock  or  thereabouts,  I  gather, 
when,  shaping  his  course  toward  Radville's  com- 
mercial centre,  Duncan  hesitated  on  the  corner  of 
Beech  Street,  cocking  an  incredulous  eye  up  at  the 
weather-worn  sign  which  has  for  years  adorned 


122  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

the  side  of  Tuthill's  grocery:  a  hand  indicating 
fixedly : 

THIS  WAY  TO 
GRAHAM'S  DRUG  STORE 

"  Two  druggists  in  Radville !  "  he  mused.  "  Is 
it  possible?  .  .  .  Then  it's  Harry's  mistake 
if  the  scheme  fails;  he  said  this  was  a  one-horse 
country  town,  but  I'm  blest  if  it  isn't  a  thriving 
metropolis!  Two!  .  .  .  Here,  I'm  going  to 
have  a  look." 

He  turned  up  Beech  and  presently  discovered 
the  object  of  his  quest,  a  two-storey  building  of 
"  frame,"  guiltless  of  the  ardent  caress  of  a  paint- 
brush since  time  out  of  mind.  On  the  ground  floor 
the  windows  were  made  up  of  many  small  square 
panes,  several  of  which  had  been  rudely  mended. 
Through  them  the  interior  glimmered  darkly.  In 
the  foreground  stood  a  broken  bottle,  shaped  like 
a  mortuary  urn  and  half  full  of  pink  liquid.  Be- 
side it  reposed  a  broken  packing-box  in  which 
bleary  camphor-balls  nestled  between  torn  sheets 
of  faded  blue  paper.  Of  these  a  silent  companion 
in  misery  stood  on  the  far  side  of  the  window:  a 
towering  pagoda-like  cage  of  wire  in  which 
(trapped,  doubtless,  by  means  of  some  mysteri- 
ous bait  known  only  to  alchemists)  three  worn  but 
brutal-looking  sponges  were  apparently  slumber- 
ing in  exhaustion.  Back  of  these  a  dusty  plaster- 


THE  MAN  OF  BUSINESS  IN  EMBRYO     123 

cast  of  a  male  figure  lightly  draped  seemed  to  rep- 
resent the  survival  of  the  fittest  over  some  strange 
and  deadly  patent  medicine.  The  recessed  door 
bore  an  inscription  in  gold  letters,  tarnished  and 
half  obliterated : 


AM    GRAHAM 
RUGS   &   CHEM  C   LS 
RSCRIPTION   CAREF    LY  C    POUNDED 

"Looks  like  the  very  place  for  one  of  my  ac- 
knowledged abilities,"  said  Duncan.  He  turned 
the  knob  and  entered,  advancing  to  the  middle  of 
the  dingy  room.  There,  standing  beside  a  cold 
and  rusty  stove  whose  pipe  wandered  giddily  to 
a  hole  in  the  farthest  wall  (reminding  him  of 
some  uncouth  cat  with  its  tail  over  its  back),  he 
surveyed  with  the  single  requisite  comprehensive 
glance  the  tiers  of  shelves  tenanted  by  a  beggarly 
array  of  dingy  bottles;  the  soda  fountain  with  its 
company  of  glasses  and  syrup  jars;  the  flanking 
counters  with  their  broken  show-cases  housing  a 
heterogenous  conglomeration  of  unsalable  wares; 
the  aged  and  tattered  posters  heralding  the  virtues 
of  potent  affronts  to  the  human  interior — to  say 
naught  of  its  intelligence;  the  drab  walls  and 
debris-littered  flooring. 

A  slight  grating  noise  behind  him  brought  Dun- 


124  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

can  round  with  a  start.  At  a  work-bench  near  the 
window  sat  a  white-haired  man  garbed  baggily  in 
an  old  crash  coat  and  trousers.  His  head  was 
bowed  over  something  clamped  in  a  vise,  at  which 
he  was  tinkering  busily  with  a  file.  He  did  not 
look  up,  but,  as  his  caller  moved,  inquired  ami- 
ably: "Well?" 

"Good-morning,"  stammered  Duncan;  "er — I 
should  say  afternoon." 

"  So  you  should,"  Sam  admitted,  still  fussing 
with  his  work.  "  Anything  you  want?  " 

Duncan  swallowed  hard  and  mastered  his  con- 
fusion. "Would  it  be  possible  for  me  to  speak 
to  the  proprietor  a  moment?  " 

"  I  should  jedge  it  would.  Go  right  along." 
Sam  filed  vigorously. 

"Might  I  ask — are  you  Mr.  Graham?" 

"Yes,  sir;  that's  me." 

The  filing  continued  stridently.  Duncan  moved 
closer.  There  was  scant  encouragement  to  be 
gathered  from  Graham's  indifferent  attitude;  yet 
his  voice  had  been  pleasant,  kindly. 

"  I — I'm  looking  for  employment,"  said  Dun- 
can hastily.  "If " 

"Employment!" 

Graham  dropped  his  tools  with  a  clatter  and 
faced  round.  For  a  moment  his  eyes  twinkled 
and  a  wintry  smile  lightened  his  fine  old  features. 
"Well,  I  declare!  "  he  said,  rising.  "You  must 


THE  MAN  OF  BUSINESS  IN   EMBRYO     125 

be  the  stranger  the  whole  town's  been  talkin' 
about." 

"  If  at  any  time,"  Duncan  pursued  hastily,  "  you 
should  have  an  opening  here  that  you  can  offer 
me,  I  shall  endeavour  to  give  satisfaction.  Good- 
day,  sir."  And  he  made  for  the  door. 

"  Eh,  just  a  minute,"  said  Graham.  "  Are  you 
in  a  hurry?  " 

Duncan  paused,  smiling  nervously.  "  Oh,  no — 
only  I  mustn't  press  it,  you  know — just  say  it  and 

get  right I  mean  I  don't  want  to  take  up 

your  valuable  time,  sir." 

Graham  chuckled.  "  Guess  the  folks  haven't 
been  talking  much  to  you  about  me,"  he  suggested. 
"  You  seem  to  have  a  higher  opinion  of  the  value 
of  my  time  than  anybody  else  in  Radville." 

"  Yes,  but — that  is  to  say " 

"  But  if  you're  really  looking  for  a  job,  I'd  like 
to  give  you  one  first  rate." 

Duncan  started  toward  him  in  breathless  haste. 
"You — you'd  like  to! You  don't  mean  it!  " 

"Yes,"  Graham  nodded,  smiling  with  enjoy- 
ment of  his  little  joke.  It  was  harmless;  he  didn't 
for  a  moment  believe  that  Duncan  really  needed 
employment ;  and  on  the  other  hand  it  tickled  him 
immensely  to  think  that  anyone  should  apply  to 
him  for  work. 

"  Well,"  said  Duncan,  staring,  "  you're  the  first 
man  I  ever  met  that  felt  that  way  about  it." 


126  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Sam's  amusement  dwindled.  "  The  trouble  is/* 
he  confessed — "  the  trouble  is,  my  boy,  my  busi- 
ness is  so  small  I  don't  need  any  help.  There 
isn't  much  of  anything  to  do  here." 

"  That's  just  the  sort  of  a  place  I'd  like,"  said 
Duncan  impulsively.  Then  he  laughed  a  little, 
uneasily.  "  I  mean,  I'm  willing  to  take  any  posi- 
tion, no  matter  how  insignificant.  I  mean  it,  hon- 
estly." 

"  This  might  suit  you,  then " 

"  I  wish  you'd  let  me  try  it,  sir." 

"  But  you  don't  understand."  Graham  was  se- 
rious enough  now;  there  wasn't  any  joke  in  what 
he  had  to  say.  "  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  can't 
afford  it.  When  your  pay  was  due,  I'm  afraid  I 
shouldn't  have  any  money  to  give  you." 

Duncan  dismissed  this  paltry  consideration  with 
a  princely  gesture.  "  I  don't  mind  that  part,"  he 
insisted.  "  Mr.  Graham,  if  you'll  teach  me  the 
drug  business  I'll  work  for  you  for  nothing." 

He  said  it  earnestly,  for  he  meant  it  just  a  bit 
more  seriously  than  he  himself  realised  at  the  mo- 
ment; and  I'm  glad  to  think  it  was  because  Sam's 
serene  and  gentle,  guileless  nature  had  appealed 
to  the  young  man.  He  had  that  in  him,  that  in- 
stinct for  decency  and  the  right,  that  made  him 
like  this  simple,  sweet  and  almost  childish  old  man 
at  sight — like  him  and  want  to  help  him,  though 
he  was  hardly  conscious  of  this  and  believed  his 


THE  MAN  OF  BUSINESS  IN   EMBRYO     127 

motive  rather  more  than  less  selfish,  that  he  was 
grasping  at  this  opportunity  for  relief  from  the 
deadly  ennui  that  oppressed  him  as  madly  as  a 
famished  man  at  a  crust.  Indeed,  the  boy  was 
eager  to  deceive  himself  in  this  respect,  with 
youth's  wholesome  horror  of  sentiment. 

"  Between  you  and  me,"  he  hurried  on,  "  it's 
this  way :  I've  been  here  for  two  weeks  with  noth- 
ing to  do  but  look  at  a  book,  and  it's  got  me  crazy 
enough  to  want  to  work!  " 

But  still  I  like  to  think  it  was  for  a  better  rea- 
son, that  his  conduct  then  bore  out  my  theory  that 
there  are  streaks  of  human  kindliness  and  right- 
thinking  in  all  of  us — buried  deep  though  they 
may  be  by  many  an  acquired  stratum  of  callous- 
ness and  egoism :  the  sediment  of  life  caking  upon 
the  soul.  .  .  . 

But  as  for  Sam,  as  soon  as  he  recovered  he 
shook  his  head  in  thoughtful  deprecation.  "Well, 
I  swan !  "  he  said.  "  I  guess  you  must  find  it 
pretty  slow  down  here.  But " — brightening—"  if 
you  feel  that  way  about  it,  I'd  better  take  you 
over  to  Sothern  and  Lee's.  They'd  be  glad  to  get 
you  at  the  price." 

"And  in  a  week  they'd  think  they  were  over- 
paying me,"  Duncan  argued.  "No — I've  been 
there.  Why  not  try  me  on  here?  " 

"  Well,  I'm  just  a  little  bit  afraid  you  wouldn't 
learn  much,  my  boy.  I  don't  do  business  enough 


128  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

to  give  you  a  good  idea  of  it.  Sothern  and  Lee 
get  all  the  trade  nowadays." 

"  But  look  here,  sir:  don't  you  think  if  I  came 
in  here  perhaps  we  could  build  up  the  business?  " 

"No,  I'm  afraid  not,"  Graham  deprecated, 
pursing  his  lips  and  rubbing  the  white  stubble  of 
his  beard  with  a  toil-worn  thumb. 

Duncan  eyed  him  in  bitter  humour.  "  No,  of 
course  not.  You're  right — but  somebody  must 
have  tipped  you  off." 

Graham  paid  little  heed,  whose  mind  was  bent 
upon  his  own  parlous  circumstances.  "  I  haven't 
got  capital  enough  to  stock  up  the  store,"  he  ex- 
plained; "that's  the  real  trouble.  Folks  have 
got  into  the  habit  of  going  to  the  other  store  be- 
cause I'm  out  of  so  many  things." 

"  Well,  to  be  sure,"  said  Duncan,  a  little 
dashed;  "you  can't  expect  to  do  business  unless 
you've  got  things  to  sell  .  .  ." 

"  I  don't  expect  it,  my  boy,"  Sam  assented  dole- 
fully. "  'Twouldn't  be  in  reason.  .  .  .  You 
see,"  he  added,  hope  lightening  his  gloom,  "  I'm 
working  on  an  invention  of  mine,  and  if  that 
should  work  out  I'd  get  some  money  and  be  able 
to  get  a  fresh  stock.  Then  I'd  be  glad  to  have 
you." 

Duncan  brushed  this  impatiently  aside.  "  How 
much  business  are  you  doing  here  now?  " 

"Some  days" — Graham  reckoned  it  on  his  fin- 


THE  MAN  OF  BUSINESS  IN  EMBRYO     129 

gers — "  I  take  in  a  dollar  or  two,  and  some  days 
.  .  .  nothing.  .  .  .  There's  my  sody  foun- 
tain," he  said  with  a  jerk  of  a  thumb  toward  it: 
'*  got  that  fixed  up  a  little  while  ago,  and  it's 
bri.iging  in  a  little.  Not  much.  You  see,  I  need 
more  syrups.  I've  only  got  vanilly  now." 

"Soda  water!"  Duncan  jumped  at  the  idea. 
"  Hold  on !  All  the  girls  round  here  drink  soda, 
don't  they?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Graham  abstractedly. 

The  thought  infused  new  life  into  the  younger 
man's  waning  purpose.  "  Mr.  Graham,  I  wish 
you'd  let  me  come  in  here  for  a  while.  I  don't 
care  about  wages." 

Graham  lifted  his  shoulders  resignedly.  "  Well, 
my  boy,  it  don't  seem  right,  but  if  you  really  want 
to  work  here  for  nothing,  I'll  be  glad  to  have 
you;  and  if  things  look  up  with  me,  I'll  be  glad 
to  pay  you." 

Abruptly  he  found  his  hand  grasped  and 
pumped  gratefully. 

"  That's  mighty  good  of  you,  Mr.  Graham. 
When  can  I  start?  " 

"Why    .     .     .    whenever  you  like." 

In  a  twinkling  Duncan's  hat  and  gloves  were 
off.  "  I'd  like  to,  now,"  he  said.  "  Where  can 
we  get  more  syrups?  " 

"  Unfortunately  .  .  .  I'll  have  to  buy 
them." 


130  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

"How  much?"  Duncan's  hand  was  in  his 
pocket  in  an  instant. 

"Oh,  no,  you  mustn't  do  that."  Sam  backed 
away  in  alarm.  "  I  couldn't  allow  it,  my  boy. 
It's  good  of  you,  but  .  .  ." 

"Either,"  Nat  told  himself,  "I'm  asleep  or 
someone's  refusing  to  take  money  from  me."  He 
grinned  cheerfully.  "Oh,  that's  all  right,"  he 
contended  aloud.  "  I'll  draw  it  down  as  soon 
as  we  begin  to  sell  soda."  He  selected  a  bill 
from  his  slender  store.  "  Will  five  dollars  be 
enough?  " 

"Oh,   yes,   but  it  wouldn't  be   right   for  me 

ir»____" 

But  by  this  time  Duncan  was  pressing  the  bill 
into  his  hand.  "  Nonsense !  "  he  insisted.  "  How 
can  we  build  up  trade  without  syrup?  " 

"  But— but " 

"And  how  can  I  learn  the  business  without 
trade?"  He  closed  Graham's  unwilling  fingers 
over  the  money  and  skipped  away. 

Sighing,  Graham  gave  over  the  unequal  argu- 
ment. "  Well,  if  you're  satisfied,  my  boy.  .  .  . 
But  I'll  have  to  write  to  Elmiry  for  it." 

"  Telegraph." 

"Telegraph!"  Graham  laughed.  "  That'd 
kill  Lew  Parker,  I  guess." 

"Who's  he?" 

"  Telegraph  operator  and  ticket  agent." 


THE  MAN  OF  BUSINESS  IN   EMBRYO     131 

"  Well,  he  won't  be  missed  much.  Telegraph 
and  tell  'em  to  send  the  goods  C.  O.  D.  Please, 
Mr.  Graham.  We  want  to  get  things  moving 
here,  you  know;  we've  got  to  build  up  the  busi- 
ness. We'll  put  out  some  signs  and  .  .  .  and 
.  .  .  well,  we'll  get  the  people  in  the  habit  of 
coming  here  somehow.  You'll  see !  " 

He  raked  the  poverty-stricken  shelves  with  a 
calculating  eye,  all  his  energy  fired  by  enthusiasm 
at  the  prospect  of  doing  something.  Graham 
watched  him  with  kindling  liking  and  admiration. 
His  old  lips  quivered  a  little  before  he  voiced 
his  thought. 

"  You — you  know,  my  boy,  you've  got  splendid 
business  ability,"  he  asserted  with  whole-souled 
conviction. 

Duncan  almost  reeled.     "What?  "  he  cried. 

"  I  was  just  saying,  you  have  wonderful  busi- 
ness ability." 

"  You're  the  first  man  that  ever  said  that.  I 
wonder  if  it's  so." 

"  I'm  sure  of  it." 

"Well,"  said  Nat,  chuckling,  "I'll  write  that 
to  my  chum.  He'll " 

"  Oh,  I  can  tell,"  Graham  interrupted.  "  Now, 
I  ...  Well,  you  see,  I've  been  a  failure  in 
business.  So  far  as  that  goes,  I've  been  a  failure 
in  everything  all  my  life." 

Duncan  stared  for  a  moment,  then  offered  his 


132  THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

hand.  "  For  luck,"  he  explained,  meeting  Gra- 
ham's puzzled  gaze  as  his  hand  was  taken. 

Wondering,  Graham  shook  his  head;  and  grati- 
tude made  his  old  voice  tremulous.  He  put  a 
hand  over  Duncan's,  patting  it  gently. 

"  I  want  you  to  know,  my  boy,  that  I  appre- 
ciate ...  His  voice  broke.  "  It's  mighty 
kind  of  you  to  buy  the  syrup — very  kind " 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort;  it's  just  because  I've  got 
great  business  ability."  Duncan  laughed  quietly 
and  moved  away.  "We'll  want  to  clean  up  a 
bit,"  said  he;  "  got  a  broom?  I'll  raise  the  dust  a 
bit  while  you're  out  sending  that  wire." 

"  You'll  find  one  in  the  cellar,  I  guess,  but — 
your  clothes " 

11  Oh,  that's  all  right.    Where's  the  cellar?  " 

"  Underneath,"  Graham  told  him  simply,  tak- 
ing down  a  battered  hat  from  a  hook  behind  the 
counter. 

"  I  know;  but  how  do  I  get  there?  " 

"  By  the  steps ;  you  go  through  that  door  there 
into  the  hall..  The  steps  are  under  the  stairs  to 
our  rooms.  I  live  above  the  store,  you  see." 

"  Yes.     .     .     .     Good-bye,  Mr.  Graham." 

"  Good-bye,  my  boy." 

Duncan  watched  the  old  man  move  slowly  out 
of  sight,  then  with  a  groan  sat  down  on  the  coun- 
ter to  think  it  over.  "  It  wouldn't  be  me  if  I 
didn't  make  a  mess  of  things  somehow,"  he  told 


THE  MAN  OF  BUSINESS  IN   EMBRYO     133 

himself  bitterly.  "  Now  you  have  gone  and  went 
and  done  it,  Mr.  Fortune  Hunter.  You  stand  a 
swell  chance  of  getting  away  with  the  goods  when 
you  take  a  wageless  job  in  a  spavined  country 
drug-store  with  no  trade  worth  mentioning  and 
nothing  to  draw  it  with  .  .  .  just  because  that 
old  duffer's  the  only  human  being  you've  spotted 
in  this  burg  I  ... 

"  Wonder  what  Harry  would  say  if  he  heard 
about  that  wonderful  business  ability  thing.  .  .  . 

"  But  what  in  thunder  can  we  do  to  bring  busi- 
ness to  this  bum  joint?  " 

He  raked  his  surroundings  with  a  discouraged 
glance. 

"Oh,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "hell!" 

Five  minutes  later  Ben  Sperry  found  him  in  the 
same  position,  his  head  bent  in  perplexed  reverie. 
Sperry  had  been  travelling  for  Gresham  and  Jones, 
a  wholesale  drug-house  in  Elmira,  more  years 
than  I  can  remember.  His  friendship  for  Sam 
Graham,  contracted  during  the  days  when  Gra- 
ham's was  the  drug-store  of  Radville,  has  sur- 
vived the  decay  of  the  business.  He's  a  square, 
decent  man,  Sperry,  and  has  wasted  many  an  hour 
trying  to  persuade  Sam  to  pay  a  little  more  at- 
tention to  the  business.  I  suspect  he  suffered  the 
shock  of  his  placid  life  when  he  found  Sam  absent 
and  the  shop  in  the  care  of  this  spruce,  well  set- 
up young  man. 


134  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"Anything  I  can  do  for  you?"  chirped  Dun- 
can cheerfully,  dropping  off  the  counter  as  Sperry 
entered. 

"No-o;  I  just  wanted  to  see  old  Sam.  Is  he 
upstairs  ?  " 

"  No,  Mr.  Graham's  not  in  at  present,"  Dun- 
can told  him  civilly. 

Sperry  wrinkled  his  brows  over  this  problem. 
"You  working  here?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  I'll  be  hanged!" 

"  Let  us  hope  not,"  said  Duncan  pleasantly.  He 
waited  a  moment,  a  little  irritated.  "  Sure  there's 
nothing  /  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  No-o,"  said  Sperry  slowly,  struggling  to  com- 
prehend. "  Thank  you  just  the  same." 

"  Not  at  all."     Duncan  turned  away. 

"  You  see,"  Sperry  pursued,  "  I  don't  buy  from 
drug-stores:  I  sell  to  'em." 

Duncan  faced  about  with  new  interest  in  the 
man.  "Yes?"  he  said  encouragingly. 

"  My  card,"  volunteered  Sperry,  fishing  the  slip 
of  pasteboard  from  his  waistcoat  pocket.  He 
dropped  his  sample  case  beside  the  stove  and 
plumped  down  in  the  chair,  to  the  peril  of  its  ex- 
istence. "  I  don't  make  this  town  very  often,"  he 
pursued,  while  Duncan  studied  his  card.  "  Soth- 
ern  and  Lee  are  the  only  people  I  sell  to  here,  but 
I  never  miss  a  chance  to  chin  a  while  with  old 


THE  MAN   OF   BUSINESS  IN   EMBRYO      135 

Sam.  So,  having  half  an  hour  before  train  time, 
I  thought  I'd  drop  in." 

"  Mr.  Graham  doesn't  order  from  your  house, 
then?" 

"Doesn't  order  from  anybody,  does  he?" 

"  I  don't  know;  I've  just  come  here.  He'll  be 
sorry  to  have  missed  you,  though.  He's  just 
stepped  out  to  wire  your  house — I  gather  from 
the  fact  that  it's  in  Elmira;  he  mentioned  that 
town,  not  the  firm  name — for  some  syrups." 

"  You  don't  mean  it ! "  Spcrry  gasped. 
"What's  struck  him  all  of  a  sudden?  He 
ain't  put  in  any  new  stock  for  ten  years,  I 
reckon." 

"Well,  you  see,"  Duncan  explained  artfully, 
"  I've  persuaded  him,  in  a  way,  to  try  to  make 
something  out  of  the  business  here.  We're  go- 
ing to  do  what  we  can,  of  course,  in  a  small  way 
at  first." 

Sperry  wagged  a  dubious  head.  "  I  dunno," 
he  considered.  "  Sam's  a  nice  old  duffer,  but  he 
ain't  got  no  business  sense  and  never  had;  you 
can  see  for  yourself  how  he's  let  everything  run 
to  seed  here.  Sothern  and  Lee  took  all  his  trade 
years  ago." 

"Yes,  I  know;  that's  why  he  needs  me,"  said 
Duncan  brazenly.  In  his  soul  he  remarked  "  O 
Lord!  "  in  a  tone  of  awe;  his  colossal  impudence 
dazed  even  himself.  "But  don't  you  think  he 


136  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

could  get  back  some  of  the  trade  if  the  store  was 
stocked  up  ?  " 

"  No  doubt  about  that  at  all,"  Sperry  averred; 
"  he'd  get  the  biggest  part  of  it." 

"You  think  so?" 

"  Sure  of  it.  You  see,  everybody  round  here 
likes  Sam,  and  Sothern  and  Lee  have  always  been 
outsiders.  They'd  swing  to  this  shop  in  a  minute, 
just  on  account  of  that.  Fact  is,  I  wasted  a  lot  of 
talk  on  our  firm  a  couple  of  years  ago,  trying  to 
make  our  people  give  him  some  credit,  but  they 
couldn't  see  it.  He  owed  them  a  bill  then  that 
was  so  old  it  had  grown  whiskers." 

"And  still  owes  it,  I  presume?  " 

"You  bet  he  still  owes  it.  Always  will.  It's 
so  small  that  it  ain't  worth  while  suing  for " 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Sperry,  how  much  is  this  bill 
with  the  whiskers?" 

"About  fifty  dollars,  I  think,"  said  the  travel- 
ling man,  fumbling  for  his  wallet.  "  I'm  sup- 
posed to  ask  for  payment  every  time  I  strike 
town,  you  know,  so  I  always  have  it  with  me; 
but  I  haven't  had  the  heart  to  say  a  word  to 
Sam  for  a  good  long  time.  .  .  .  Here  it 
is." 

Duncan  studied  carefully  the  memorandum: 
"To  Mdse,  as  per  bill  rendered,  $47.85."  "I 
wonder  .  .  ."  he  murmured. 

"Eh?"  said  Sperry. 


THE  MAN   OF   BUSINESS  IN   EMBRYO      137 

"  I  was  wondering :  .  .  .  Suppose  you  were 
to  tell  your  people  that  there's  a  young  fellow  here 
who'd  like  to  give  this  store  a  boom.  .  .  .  Say 
he  wants  a  little  credit  because — because  Mr.  Gra- 
ham won't  let  him  put  in  any  cash •" 

"  Not  a  bit  of  use,"  Sperry  negatived.  "  I 
would,  myself,  but  the  house — no." 

"  But  suppose  I  pay  this  bill " 

"  Pay  it?    You  really  mean  that?  " 

"  Certainly  I  mean  it."  Duncan  produced  the 
wad  of  bills  which  Kellogg  had  furnished  him  the 
night  before  his  departure  from  New  York.  Thus 
far  he  had  broken  only  one  of  the  five-hundred- 
dollar  gold  certificates,  and  of  that  one  he  had 
the  greater  part  left;  living  is  anything  but  ex- 
pensive in  Radville. 

"  I'm  beginning  to  understand  that  I  was  cut 
out  for  an  actor,"  he  told  himself  as  he  thumbed 
the  roll  with  a  serious  air  and  an  assumed  indif- 
ference which  permitted  Sperry  to  estimate  its 
size  pretty  accurately. 

"  That's  quite  a  stack  of  chips  you're  carrying," 
Sperry  observed. 

Duncan's  hand  airily  wafted  the  remark  into 
the  limbo  of  the  negligible.  "A  trifle,  a  mere 
trifle,"  he  said  casually.  "  I  don't  generally  carry 
much  cash  about  me.  Haven't  for  five  years,"  he 
added  irrepressibly.  He  extracted  a  fifty-dollar 
certificate  from  the  sheaf,  and  handed  it  over. 


138  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"  I'll  take  a  receipt,  but  you  needn't  mention  this 
to  Mr.  Graham  just  now." 

"  No,  certainly  not."  Sperry  scrawled  his  sig- 
nature to  the  bill. 

"  And  about  that  line  of  credit? " 

"  Well,  with  this  paid,  I  guess  you  could  have 

what  you  needed,  in  moderation.    Of  course " 

"  My  name  is  Duncan — Nathaniel  Duncan." 
Sperry  made  a  memorandum  of  it  on  the  back 
of  an  envelope.     "Any  former  business  connec- 
tions?" 

"  None  that  I  care  to  speak  about,"  Duncan 
confessed  glumly. 

Sperry's  face  lengthened.     "No  references?" 

It  took  thought,   and  after  thought  courage; 

but  Duncan  hit  upon  the  solution  at  length.    "  Do 

you    know    L.    J.    Bartlett    &    Company,    the 

brokers?" 

"  Do  I  know  J.  Pierpont  Morgan?  " 
"  Then  that's  all  right.     Tell  your  people  to 
inquire  of  Harry  Kellogg,  the  junior  partner.  He 
knows  all  about  me." 

Noting  the  name,  Sperry  put  away  the  envelope. 
"  That's  enough.  If  he  says  you're  all  right,  you 
can  have  anything  you  want."  He  consulted  his 
watch.  "  Hmm.  Train  to  catch.  .  .  .  But 
let's  see:  what  do  you  need  here?  " 

Duncan  reviewed  the  empty  shelves,  his  face 
glowing.  "Pills,"  he  said  with  a  laugh:  "all 


THE  MAN  OF  BUSINESS  IN  EMBRYO     139 

kinds  of  pills  and  .  .  .  everything  for  a  reg- 
ular, sure-enough  drug-store,  Mr.  Sperry:  every- 
thing Sothern  and  Lee  carries  and  a  lot  of  attrac- 
tive things  they  don't.  .  .  .  Small  lots,  you 
know,  until  I  see  what  we  can  sell." 

"  I  see.  You  leave  it  to  me;  I  probably  know 
what  you  need  better  than  you  do.  I'll  make  out 
a  list  this  afternoon  and  mail  it  to-night  with  in- 
structions to  ship  it  at  the  earliest  possible  mo- 
ment." 

"  Splendid !  "  Duncan  told  him.  "  You  do  that, 
and  don't  worry  about  our  making  good.  I'm 
going  to  put  all  my  time  and  energy  into  this 
proposition  and " 

"Then  you'll  make  good  all  right,"  Sperry  as- 
sured him.  "  All  anybody's  got  to  do  is  look  at 
you  to  see  you're  a  good  business  man."  He  re- 
turned Duncan's  pressure  and  picked  up  his 
sample-case.  "  S'long,"  said  he,  and  left  briskly, 
leaving  Duncan  speechless. 

As  if  to  assure  himself  of  his  sanity  he  put  a 
hand  to  his  brow  and  stroked  it  cautiously. 
"Heavens!  "  he  said,  and  sought  the  support  of 
the  counter.  "  That's  twice  to-day  I've  been  told 
that  in  the  same  place!  .  .  . 

"  It's  funny,"  he  said,  half  dazed,  "  I  never 
could  have  pulled  that  off  for  myself !  " 


IX 

SMALL  BEGINNINGS 

PRESENTLY  Duncan  moved  and  came  out  of  his 
abstraction.  "  I'd  better  get  that  broom,"  he  said 
slowly.  "The  place  certainly  needs  some  expert 
manicuring  before  we  get  that  new  stock  in.  ... 
By  George,  I  really  begin  to  believe  we've  got  a 
chance  to  do  something,  after  all !  .  .  . 

"  Or  else  I'm  dreaming.    .    .    ." 

He  opened  the  back  door  and  entered  a  narrow 
and  dark  hallway,  almost  stumbling  over  the  low- 
est step  of  a  flight  of  stairs  communicating  with 
the  upper  storey.  From  above  he  could  hear  a 
clatter  of  crockery,  sounds  of  footsteps,  a  woman 
singing  softly. 

"  Graham's  wife,  I  presume.  Never  struck  me 
he  might  be  married.  .  .  .  Well,  I'll  be  quiet. 
If  she  catches  me  now,  before  we're  introduced, 
she'll  take  me  for  a  burglar." 

On  tiptoes  he  found  the  descent  to  the  cellar, 
where  by  the  aid  of  a  match  he  discovered  a  floor- 
brush  whose  reasons  for  retirement  from  active 
employment  were  most  evident  even  to  his  inex- 
pert eye.  None  the  less  nothing  better  offered, 
and  he  took  it  back  with  him  to  the  shop. 
140 


SMALL  BEGINNINGS  141 

Graham's  tinkering  was  never  of  a  cleanly  sort; 
the  floor  was  thick  with  a  litter  of  rubbish — shav- 
ings, old  nuts  and  bolts,  bits  of  scrap  tin  and 
metal,  torn  paper,  charred  ends  of  matches:  an 
indescribable  mess.  Duncan  surveyed  it  ruefully, 
but  with  the  will  to  do  strong  in  him,  took  off  his 
coat,  turned  up  his  trousers,  and  fell  to.  The  dis- 
position of  the  sweepings  troubled  him  far  less 
than  the  dust  he  raised;  obviously  the  only  place 
to  put  it  was  behind  the  counters. 

"  Nobody'll  see  it  there,"  he  said  in  a  glow  of 
satisfaction,  pausing  with  the  room  half  cleared. 
"  I  always  wondered  what  they  did  with  that  sort 
of  truck — under  the  beds,  I  suppose.  Funny  Gra- 
ham never  thought  of  this,  himself — it's  so  blame' 
easy." 

He  resumed  his  labours,  thrilled  with  the  sensa- 
tion of  accomplishment.  "  One  thing  at  least  that 
I  can  do,"  he  mused;  "never  again  shall  I  fear 
starvation  ...  so  long  as  there's  a  broom 
handy."  Absorbed  he  brushed  away,  raising  a 
prodigious  amount  of  dust  and  utterly  oblivious 
to  the  fact  that  he  was  observed. 

Two  shadows  moved  slowly  athwart  the  win- 
dows, to  which  his  back  was  turned,  paused, 
moved  on  out  of  sight,  returned.  It  was  only 
during  a  pause  for  breath  that  he  became  aware 
of  the  surveillance. 

Straightening  up,  he  looked,  gasped  and  fled  for 


142  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

the  back  of  the  store.  "  Heavens !  "  he  whis- 
pered, aghast  to  recognise  Josie  Lockwood  and 
Angie  Tuthill,  of  whose  ubiquitous  shadows  in  his 
way  he  had  been  conscious  so  frequently  within  the 
past  several  days.  "  I  thought  I  must  have  made 
an  impression.  .  .  .  Don't  tell  me  they're  com- 
ing in  1 " 

Behind  the  counter  he  struggled  furiously  into 
his  coat.  "They  are,"  he  said  with  a  sinking 
heart;  "  and  I'll  bet  a  dollar  my  face  is  dirty!  " 

Notwithstanding  these  misgivings,  it  was  a  very 
self-possessed  young  man,  to  all  appearances,  who 
moved  sedately  round  the  end  of  the  counter  to 
greet  these  possible  customers.  His  bow  was  a 
very  passable  imitation  of  the  real  thing,  he  flat- 
tered himself;  and  there's  no  manner  of  doubt  but 
that  it  flattered  the  two  prettiest  and  most  for- 
ward young  women  in  Radville  of  that  day. 

"  May  I  have  the  honour  of  waiting  on  you, 
ladies?"  he  inquired  with  all  the  suavity  of  an 
accomplished  salesman. 

Josie  and  Angie  sidled  together,  giggling  and 
simpering,  quite  overcome  by  his  manner.  A 
muffled  "How  de  do?"  from  Angie  and  a  half- 
strangled  echo  of  the  salutation  from  the  other 
were  barely  articulate.  But  hearing  them  he 
bowed  again,  separately  to  each. 

"  Good-afternoon,"  said  he,  and  waited  in  an 
inquiring  pose. 


SMALL  BEGINNINGS  143 

"  This — this  is  Mr.  Duncan,  isn't  it  ?  "  inquired 
Josie,  controlling  herself. 

"  Yes,  and  you  are  Miss  Lockwood,  if  I'm  not 
mistaken?  " 

Renewed  giggles  prefaced  her:  "Oh,  how  did 
you  know?" 

"  Could  anyone  remain  two  weeks  in  Radville 
and  not  hear  of  Miss  Lockwood?  " 

The  shot  told  famously.  "How  nice  of  you  I 
Mr.  Duncan,  I  want  you  to  meet  my  friend,  Miss 
Tuthill." 

"  I've  had  the  honour  of  admiring  Miss  Tuthill 
from  a  distance,"  Duncan  assured  the  younger 
woman.  And,  "  She'll  burn  up ! "  he  feared 
secretly,  watching  the  conflagration  of  blushes  that 
she  displayed.  "  Just  think  of  getting  away  with 
a  line  of  mush  like  that !  Harry  was  right  after 
all :  this  is  a  country  town,  all  right." 

"And — and  are  you  working  here,  Mr.  Dun- 
can? "  Josie  pursued. 

"  I'm  supposed  to  be;  I'm  afraid  I  don't  know 
the  business  very  well,  as  yet." 

"  Oh,  that's  awf'ly  nice,"  Angle  thought. 

He  thanked  her  humbly. 

"We  didn't  expect  to  see  you  here,"  Josie  as- 
sured him.  "  We  just  thought  we'd  like  some 
soda." 

"  Soda !  "  he  parroted,  horrified.  He  cast  a 
glance  askance  at  the  tawdry  fountain.  "  Let's 


144  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

see:  how  d'you  work  the  infernal  thing?"  he 
asked  himself,  utterly  bewildered. 

"Yes,"  Angie  chimed  in;  "  it's  so  warm  this  af- 
ternoon, we " 

"  I've  got  to  put  it  through  somehow,"  he 
thought  savagely.  And  aloucl,  "  Yes,  certainly," 
he  said,  and  smiled  winningly.  "  Will  you  be 
pleased  to  step  this  way?  " 

Out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes  he  detected  the 
amused  look  that  passed  between  the  girls.  "  Oh, 
very  well  1 "  he  said  beneath  his  breath.  "  You 
may  laugh,  but  you  asked  for  soda,  and  soda  you 
shall  have,  my  dears,  if  you  die  of  it."  He  put 
himself  behind  the  counter  with  an  air  of  great 
determination,  and  leaned  upon  it  with  both  hands 
outspread  until  he  realised  that  this  was  the  pose 
of  a  groceryman.  "  What'll  you  have?"  he  de- 
manded genially.  "  Er — that  is — I  mean,  would 
you  prefer  vanilla  or — ah — soda?" 

A  chant  antiphonal  answered  him : 

"  I  hate  vanilla." 

"And  so  do  I." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that !  "  he  pleaded.  "  Of  course 
you  know  there's — ah — vanilla  and  vanilla.  .  .  . 
Ah  .  .  .  some  vanilla  I  know  is  detestable,  but 
when  you  get  a  really  fine  vintage — ah — imported 
vanilla,  it's  quite  another  matter — ah — particu- 
larly at  his  season  of  the  year " 

His  confusion  was  becoming  painful. 


SMALL   BEGINNINGS  145 

"Oh,  is  it?"  asked  Josie  helpfully.  Her  eyes 
dwelt  upon  his  with  a  confiding  expression  which 
he  later  characterised  as  a  baby  stare ;  and  he  was 
promptly  reduced  to  babbling  idiocy. 

"Indeed  it  is;  no  doubt  whatever,  Miss  Lock- 
wood.  Especially  just  now,  you  know — ah — after 
the  bock  season — ah — I  mean,  when  the  weather 
is — is — in  a  way — you  might  put  it — vanilla 
weather." 

"  But  I  like  chocolate  best,"  Angle  pouted. 
And  he  hated  her  consumedly  for  the  moment. 

"  Very  well,"  Josie  told  him  sweetly,  "  I'll  have 
the  vanilla." 

He  thanked  her  with  unnecessary  effusion  and 
turned  to  inspect  the  glassware.  There  could  be 
no  mistake  about  the  right  jar,  however;  there 
was  nothing  but  vanilla,  and  seizing  it  he  removed 
the  metal  cap  and  placed  it  before  the  girls.  With 
less  ease  he  discovered  a  whiskey  glass  and  put  it 
beside  the  bottle,  with  a  cordial  wave  of  the 
hand. 

A  pause  ensued.  Duncan  was  smiling  fatuously, 
serene  in  the  belief  that  he  had  solved  the  prob- 
lem :  the  way  to  serve  soda  was  to  make  them  help 
themselves.  It  was  very  simple.  Only  they 
didn't  .  .  .  With  a  start  he  became  sensible 
that  they  were  eyeing  him  strangely. 

"  You — ah — wanted  vanilla,  did  you  not?  " 

"  Yes,  thanks,  vanilla,"  Josie  agreed. 


146  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

"  Well,  that's  it,"  he  said  firmly,  indicating  the 
jar  and  the  glass. 

Josie  giggled.  "But  I  don't  want  to  drink  it 
clear.  You  put  the  syrup  in  the  glass,  you  know, 
and  then  the  soda." 

"  Oh,  I  see !  You  want  to  make  a  high-ba — ah 
— a  long  drink  of  it.  Ah,  yes !  "  He  procured  a 
glass  of  the  regulation  size.  "Now  I  under- 
stand." A  pause.  "  If  you'll  be  good  enough  to 
help  yourself  to  the  syrup." 

"No;  you  do  it,"  Josie  pleaded. 

"  Certainly."  He  lifted  the  whiskey-glass  and 
the  jar  and  began  to  pour.  "  If  you'll  just  say 
when." 

"  What?    Oh,  that's  enough,  thank  you." 

"  If  I  ever  get  out  of  this  fix,  I'll  blow  the  whole 
shooting  match,"  he  promised  himself,  holding  the 
glass  beneath  the  faucet  and  fiddling  nervously 
with  the  valves.  For  a  moment  he  fancied  the 
tank  must  be  empty,  for  nothing  came  of  his  ef- 
forts. Then  abruptly  the  fixture  seemed  to  ex- 
plode. "  A  geyser !  "  he  cried,  blinded  with  the 
dash  of  carbonated  water  and  syrup  in  his  face, 
while  he  fumbled  furiously  with  the  valves. 

As  unexpectedly  as  it  had  begun  the  flow  ceased. 
He  put  down  the  glass,  found  his  handkerchief 
and  mopped  his  dripping  face.  When  able  to  see 
again  he  discovered  the  young  women  leaning 


SMALL   BEGINNINGS  147 

against  one  of  the  show-cases,  weak  with  laughter 
but  at  a  safe  remove. 

u  Our  soda's  so  strong,  you  know,"  he  apolo- 
gised. "  But  if  you'll  stay  where  you  are,  I'll  try 
again." 

Warned  by  experience,  he  worked  at  the  ma- 
chine gingerly,  finally  producing  a  thin,  splutter- 
ing trickle.  Beaming  with  triumph,  he  looked  up. 
"  I  think  it's  safe  now,"  he  suggested;  "  I  seem  to 
have  it  under  control." 

Angle  and  Josie  returned,  torn  by  distrust  but 
unable  to  resist  the  fascination  of  the  stranger  in 
our  village.  And  there's  no  denying  the  boy  was 
good-looking  and  a  gentleman  by  birth:  a  being 
alien  to  their  experience  of  men. 

He  had  filled  one  glass  and  was  tincturing  it 
with  syrup  when  he  caught  again  that  confiding 
smile  of  Josie's,  full  upon  him  as  the  beams  of  a 
noon-day  sun. 

"  Haven't  we  seen  you  at  church,  Mr.  Dun- 
can?" she  said  prettily. 

"  I  think,  perhaps,  you  may  have,"  he  conceded. 
"  I  have  seen  you,  both."  The  second  glass  (for 
he  was  determined  that  Angle  should  not  escape) 
took  up  all  his  attention  for  an  instant.  "  Do  you 
have  to  go,  too?"  he  inquired  out  of  this  deep 
preoccupation. 

"What?" 


I48  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

"I  mean,  do  you  attend  regularly?"  he 
amended  hastily. 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course,"  Josie  simpered,  accepting 
the  glass  he  offered  her.  "  You  make  it  a  rule  to 
go  every  Sunday,  don't  you,  Mr.  Duncan?  " 

He  permitted  himself  an  indiscretion,  secure  in 
the  belief  it  would  pass  unchallenged:  "  It's  one 
of  the  rules,  but  I  didn't  make  it." 

"  Did  you  know  there  was  a  vacancy  in  the 
choir?  "  Angie  asked,  taking  up  her  glass. 

"Choir?" 

"  Yes,"  Josie  chimed  in;  "  we  were  hoping  you'd 
join.  I  want  you  to,  awfully." 

"  We're  both  in  the  choir,"  Angie  explained. 

"And  all  the  girls  want  you  to  join.  Don't 
they,  Angie?" 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed;  they're  all  just  dying  to  meet 
you." 

"  I'll  have  to  write  and  ask,"  he  said  abstract- 
edly. 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 

Josie's  question  struck  him  dumb  with  conster- 
nation. He  made  curious  noises  in  his  throat,  and 
fancied  (as  was  quite  possible)  that  they  eyed  him 
in  a  peculiar  fashion.  "  It's — I  mean — a  little 
trouble  with  my  throat,"  he  managed  to  lie,  at 
length.  "  I  must  ask  my  physician  if  I  may, 
first." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Josie. 


SMALL  BEGINNINGS  149 

"  But,"  he  hastened  to  change  the  subject, 
"  you're  not  drinking,  either  of  you.  I  sincerely 
hope  it's  not  so  very  bad." 

Angie  replaced  her  glass,  barely  tasted.  "  Do 
you  like  it,  Josie?  " 

To  Josie's  credit  it  must  be  admitted  that  she 
made  a  brave  attempt  to  drink.  But  the  mixture 
was  undoubtedly  flat,  stale  and  unprofitable.  She 
sighed,  put  it  back  on  the  counter,  and  rose  to  the 
emergency. 

"  Mine's  perfectly  lovely  " — with  a  ravishing 
smile — "  but  it's  not  very  sweet." 

"  I  made  them  dry  for  you — thought  you'd  like 
'em  that  way,"  he  stammered.  "  Perhaps  you'd 
like  'em  better  if  I  put  a  collar  on  'em?  " 

The  chorus  negatived  this  suggestion  very 
promptly. 

"Why  don't  you  try  a  glass,  Mr.  Duncan?" 
Angie  added  with  malice. 

"  I'm  on  the  wagon — I  mean,  I  don't  drink  at 
all,"  he  said  wretchedly;  and  was  deeply  grateful 
for  the  diversion  afforded  by  the  entrance  of  a 
third  customer. 

It  was  Tracey  Tanner,  as  usual  swollen  with  im- 
portant tidings,  as  usual  propelling  himself 
through  the  world  at  a  heavy  trot.  It  has  always 
been  a  source  of  wonderment  to  me  how  Tracey 
manages  to  keep  so  stout  with  all  the  violent  exer- 
cise he  takes. 


150  THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"  Say,  Angle,"  he  twanged  at  sight  of  her,  "  I've 
been  lookin'  for  you  everywhere.  Did  you  hear 
that " 

He  stopped  instantaneously  with  open  mouth  as 
he  saw  Duncan  behind  the  counter;  and  open- 
mouthed  he  remained  while  the  young  man  came 
round  and  advanced  toward  him,  with  a  bland 
smirk  accompanied  by  a  professional  bow  and 
rubbing  of  hands. 

"  May  I  have  the  pleasure  of  serving  you,  Mr. 
Tanner?  " 

"  Huh?  "  bleated  Tracey,  dumbfounded. 

"Is  there  anything  you  wish  to  purchase?  " 

A  violent  emotion  stirred  in  Tracey.  Sounds 
began  to  emanate  from  his  heaving  chest.  "  N-n- 
no,  ma'am !  "  he  breathed  explosively. 

Duncan  bowed  again,  his  face  expressionless. 
"  Then  will  you  be  good  enough  to  excuse  me?  " 
He  turned  precisely  and  made  his  way  back  to  the 
counter. 

As  if  released  from  some  spell  of  strong  en- 
chantment by  the  movement,  Tracey  swung  on  his 
heel  and  lunged  for  the  door. 

"  What  was  it  you  wanted  to  ask  me,  Tracey?  " 
Angie  called  after  him. 

As  the  boy  disappeared  at  a  hand-gallop  his 
response  floated  back:  "I  fergit." 

"I'm  afraid  I  must  have  frightened  him?" 
Duncan  said  inquiringly. 


SMALL   BEGINNINGS  151 

"Oh,  no,  not  at  all,"  Josie  reassured  him; 
"  he's  just  gone  to  tell  everybody  you're  here." 

"  Come,  Josie,  we've  been  here  ever  so  long." 
Angie  moved  slowly  toward  the  door,  but  Josie 
inclined  to  linger. 

"  Don't  hurry,  I  beg  of  you,"  Duncan  inter- 
posed. 

"  Oh,  we  haven't  hurried,"  she  said  with  a  gush 
of  gratification  that  startled  the  man.  "You'll 
remember  what  I  said  about  the  choir,  won't 
you?" 

He  braced  himself  to  take  advantage  of  the 
opening.  "  I  shall  never  forget  it,"  he  said  im- 
pressively. 

She  gave  him  her  hand.     "  Then  good-bye." 

"Not  good-bye,  I  trust?"  He  retained  the 
hand,  despising  himself  inexpressibly. 

"  Oh,  we'll  be  in  again,  won't  we  Angie?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed." 

"My  land,  Angie!  What  do  you  think?  I'd 
almost  forgotten  to  pay  for  the  soda  ?  " 

"  Please  don't  speak  of  it,  Miss  Lockwood — the 
pleasure " 

"  But  I  must,  Mr.  Duncan.    How  much  is  it?" 

Josie  fingered  the  contents  of  her  purse  expect- 
antly, but  Duncan  hung  in  the  wind.  He  had  no 
least  notion  what  might  be  the  price  of  soda  water. 
"Two  for  a  quarter?"  he  hazarded  with  his  dis- 
arming grin. 


152  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Angle  choked  with  appreciation  of  this  exquisite 
sally.  "  Ain't  you  funny !  " 

"I'm  afraid  you're  right,"  he  conceded;  "still 
I'd  rather  you  didn't  think  so." 

"  It's  ten  cents,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Duncan?  " 

Josie  was  offering  him  a  dime;  he  accepted  it 
without  question. 

"  Thank  you,  very  much,"  said  he.  "  Good- 
afternoon,  ladies." 

He  was  aware  of  Angle's  fluttering  farewells  on 
the  sidewalk.  Josie  was  lingering  on  the  door- 
step in  an  agony  of  untrained  coquetry.  He  low- 
ered his  tone  for  her  benefit,  thereby  adding  new 
weight  to  his  bombardment  of  her  amateur  de- 
fences. 

"  Remember  you  promised  to  call  again." 

Her  giggles  tore  his  ear-drums.  "  Th-thank 
you,  I'm  sure,"  she  stammered,  and  fled. 

They  disappeared.  He  wandered  to  the  chair 
and  threw  himself  limply  into  it.  "  That  voice! " 
he  said  stupidly.  "  That  giggle !  I've  got  to  woe 
and  win  .  .  .  that!  .  .  . 

"  It  serves  me  right,"  he  concluded. 

The  most  hopeless  of  humours  assailed  him,  and 
he  yielded  to  it  without  a  struggle.  His  attitude 
expressed  his  mood  with  relentless  verity.  Chin 
sunken  upon  his  breast,  eyes  fairly  distilling  gloom, 
legs  stretched  out  carelessly  before  him,  he  sat  mo- 
tionless, suffocating  at  the  bottom  of  a  gulf  of 


SMALL   BEGINNINGS  153 

discontent.  His  lips  moved,  sometimes  noise- 
lessly, again  in  whispers  barely  audible. 

"  Years  of  this !  .  .  .  A  matter  of  human 
endurance — no,  superhuman!  .  .  .  If  it  wasn't 
for  the  bargain,  I'd  chuck  it  all  and  .  .  . 

"  Well,  the  only  way  to  forget  your  misery  is  to 
work,  I  suppose." 

He  pulled  himself  together  and  stood  up,  won- 
dering where  he  had  left  his  broom,  and  simul- 
taneously stiffened  with  surprise,  aware  that  he 
was  not  alone.  A  glance,  however,  established  the 
connection  between  the  rear  door,  which  stood 
ajar,  and  the  young  woman  who  stood  staring  at 
him  in  utterest  stupefaction.  This,  he  thought, 
must  be  the  woman  of  the  voice,  upstairs. 

But  she  couldn't  be  Graham's  wife.  She  was 
too  young.  Even  beneath  the  mask  of  care  and 
weariness,  the  all  too  plain  evidences  of  privation, 
spiritual  and  mental  as  well  as  physical,  that  Betty 
wore  unceasingly  in  those  days,  he  could  discern 
youth  and  grace  and  gentleness,  and  the  nascent 
promise  of  prettiness  that  longed  to  be,  to  have 
the  chance  to  show  itself  and  claim  its  meed  of 
deference  and  love.  He  was  quick  to  see  the  in- 
telligence in  her  mutinous  eyes,  and  the  sweet 
lines  of  her  mouth,  too  often  shaped  in  sullen 
mould,  and  no  less  quick  to  recognise  that  she 
would  carry  herself  well,  with  spirit  and  dignity, 
once  she  were  relieved  of  household  toil  and  moil, 


154  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

once  given  the  chance  to  discard  her  shapeless,  be- 
draggled and  threadbare  garments  for  those  dainty 
and  beautiful  things  for  which  her  starved  heart 
must  be  sick  with  longing.  .  .  . 

"  Good  Lord!  "  he  thought,  pitiful,  "  it's  worse 
here  than  I  dreamed.  Old  Graham  must  need  a 
keeper — and  this  child  has  been  trying  to  be  that, 
with  nothing  to  keep  him  on." 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  the  girl  demanded  sullenly, 
in  a  voice  a  little  harsh  and  toneless.  "  What  are 
you  doing  here?  Where's  my  father?  " 

"  Mr.  Graham  has  stepped  out  on  business," 
Duncan  replied.  "You  are  his  daughter,  I  be- 
lieve?" 

"  Yes,  I'm  his  daughter,  but " 

"  My  name  is  Nathaniel  Duncan.  Mr.  Graham 
has  been  kind  enough  to  take  me  on  as  apprentice, 
so  to  speak." 

Her  stare  continued,  intense,  resentful,  undevi- 
ating. 

"You  mean  you're  going  to  work  here?" 

"That  my  intention,  Miss  Graham."  He 
nodded  gravely. 

"What  for?" 

"  To  learn  the  drug  business." 

"Oh-h!  "  She  flung  herself  a  pace  away,  im- 
patiently. "  I'm  not  a  child,  and  I  don't  want  to 
be  talked  to  like  one." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  annoy  you " 


You  mean  you're  going  to  work  here  :  " 


SMALL   BEGINNINGS  155 

"  Well,  you  do.  You've  got  no  business  in  a 
run-down  place  like  this — you  with  your  fine 
clothes  and  your  fine  airs.  You  didn't  come  here 
to  learn  the  drug  business ;  you  know  as  well  as  I 
do  you've  got  some  other  motive." 

There  was  a  truth  in  that  to  sting  him.  He 
smarted  under  its  lash,  but  held  his  temper  in 
check  because  he  was  sorry  for  the  girl.  "  Per- 
haps you're  right,"  he  conceded;  "perhaps  I  have 
some  other  motive.  But  that's  neither  here  nor 
there.  I'm  here,  and  it  is  my  present  intention  to 
learn  the  drug  business  in  your  father's  store." 

"  I  don't  believe  you,  Mister  Duncan — or  what- 
ever your  name  is." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  said  patiently. 

Betty's  lips  twitched,  contemptuous.  "Well, 
saying  you  do  mean  to  work  here " 

"  I  do." 

"  Where  do  you  think  your  pay's  going  to  come 
from?" 

"Heaven,  perhaps." 

"  I  guess  you  think  that's  funny,  don't  you?  " 

"  I  confess,  at  the  moment  I  did.  But  now  I 
realise  it's  probably  a  bitter  truth." 

He  was  too  much  for  her,  she  saw,  and  the 
knowledge  only  served  to  fan  her  indignation  and 
suspicions. 

"  You're  making  a  mistake,"  she  snapped. 
"  Father  can't  pay  you  nothing." 


156  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"He'll  pay  me  all  I'm  worth,"  said  Duncan 
meekly. 

She  glared  at  him  an  instant  longer,  then  mute 
for  lack  of  a  sufficiently  scornful  retort,  turned 
and  ran  back  up  the  steps,  slamming  the  door  be- 
hind her. 

Duncan  drew  a  rueful  face,  contemplating  the 
place  where  she  had  been. 

"  I  didn't  think  this  was  going  to  be  a  bed  of 
roses — and  it  isn't,"  he  concluded. 


ROLAND  BARNETTE  S    FRIEND 

NAT  had  a  busy  day  or  two  after  that,  trying  to  set 
things  to  rights  in  the  store  for  the  better  recep- 
tion and  display  of  the  new  stock.  Sperry  dropped 
him  a  line  saying  that  the  goods  would  arrive  on 
the  third  day,  and  there  was  much  to  do  to  make 
way  for  it.  He  managed  to  get  the  shop  cleaned 
up  thoroughly  with  Betty's  not  unwilling  but  dis- 
tinctly suspicious  aid;  the  girl  was  apparently  con- 
vinced that  Duncan  meant  business,  and  that  this 
would  ostensibly  work  for  her  father's  benefit,  but 
she  was  distinctly  dubious  as  to  the  deux  ex  ma- 
china.  Duncan  now  and  again  would  catch  her 
watching  him,  her  eyes  dark  with  speculation ;  but 
when  she  detected  his  gaze  her  look  would  change 
instantly  to  one  of  hostility  and  defiance.  He  sus- 
pected that  only  her  father's  wishes  prevented  an 
open  break  with  her;  as  it  was  he  was  con- 
scious that  there  was  no  more  than  an  armed  truce 
between  them.  And  he  did  not  like  it;  it  made 
him  uncomfortable.  He  wasn't  hardened  enough 
to  have  an  easy  conscience,  and  Betty's  open 
doubts  as  to  the  reason  for  his  coming  to  Radville 
disturbed  Duncan  more  than  he  would  have  cared 
to  own. 

157 


158  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

For  all  that,  they  worked  together  steadily,  and 
accomplished  a  rather  sensational  transformation 
in  the  appearance  of  the  place.  The  floor,  counter 
and  shelves  were  swept,  washed,  dusted  and 
garnished  with  paint;  that  is,  all  but  the  floor  re- 
ceived the  attention  of  the  paint-brush;  Duncan 
managed  to  smuggle  a  quantity  of  oil-cloth  into 
the  shop  and  get  it  down  before  Graham  could 
enter  any  protest:  the  effect  approximated  tiling 
nearly  enough  to  brighten  the  room  up  wonder- 
fully. Aside  from  this  the  old  stock  was  routed 
out  and,  for  the  greater  part,  donated  to  the  rub- 
bish-heap. Teddy  Smart,  the  glazier,  was  com- 
missioned to  repair  the  broken  window-panes  and 
show-cases.  A  can  of  metal  polish  freshened  up 
the  nickel  and  brass  trimmings  and  rendered  the 
single  upright  of  the  soda  fountain  almost  attrac- 
tive. The  stove  was  uprooted  and  stored  away, 
and  its  aspiring  pipes  dispensed  with.  Finally, 
after  considerable  argument,  Graham  consented 
to  the  removal  of  his  work-bench  to  a  shed  in  the 
back-yard.  The  model  was  suffered  to  remain, 
the  tanks  and  burner  being  stored  out  of  sight  be- 
neath one  of  the  window-seats,  more  because  Dun- 
can considered  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  have 
the  light  than  because  he  understood  or  attached 
much  importance  to  the  contrivance.  For  that 
matter,  he  hadn't  the  time  to  listen  to  an  exposi- 
tion of  its  advantages,  and  Graham,  recognising 


ROLAND    BARNETTE'S    FRIEND        159 

this,  was  content  to  abide  his  time,  serene  in  the 
conviction  that  he  would  presently  find  in  his  as- 
sistant a  willing  and  sympathetic  listener. 

Between  spasms  of  work  Duncan  had  his  hands 
full  attending  to  the  soda  fountain.  Soda  water 
being  practically  the  only  salable  thing  in  the  store, 
it  had  to  serve  as  an  excuse  for  the  inquisitiveness 
of  many  of  my  fellow-citizens,  to  say  nothing  of — 
I  should  put  it,  but  especially — their  wives  and 
daughters.  The  consumption  of  vanilly  sody  in 
those  two  days  broke  all  known  Radville  records, 
and  stands  a  singular  tribute  to  the  Spartan  forti- 
tude of  Radville  womanhood,  particularly  the 
young  strata  thereof.  Duncan,  after  he  had 
succeeded  in  taming  the  fountain,  seemed  rather 
to  enjoy  than  object  to  dispensing  sody,  standing 
inspection  and  receiving  adulation  and  nickels  in 
unequal  proportions.  By  the  end  of  the  second 
day  he  could  not  truthfully  have  told  his  friend 
Willy  Bartlett:  "  The  list  has  shrunk."  It  had 
swollen  enormously.  There  isn't  any  doubt  but 
that  he  had  a  nodding  acquaintance  with  every 
pretty  girl  in  town,  as  well  as  with  most  not  con- 
sidered pretty. 

From  my  window  in  the  Citizen  office  I  was 
able  to  keep  a  tolerably  close  account  of  events 
and  obtain  a  consensus  of  public  opinion.  So  far 
as  the  latter  bore  upon  Duncan,  it  was  divided  into 
two  rather  distinct  parties,  one  of  course  favouring 


160  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

him;  and  this  was  feminine  almost  exclusively. 
Tracey  Tanner,  to  be  sure,  confessed  within  my 
hearing  to  a  predilection  for  the  Noo  York  dood, 
but  was  inclined  to  hedge  and  climb  the  fence  when 
assailed  by  Roland's  strictures.  Roland,  I  sus- 
pect, was  a  wee  mite  jealous;  he  had  been  paying 
attention  to — I  mean,  going  with — Josie  Lockwood 
for  several  months.  Instinctively  he  must  have 
divined  his  danger;  and  it's  not  in  reason  to  exact 
admiration  of  the  usurper  from  the  usurped,  even 
when  the  act  of  usurpation  has  not  yet  been  defi- 
nitely consummated.  Roland  went  to  the  length  of 
labelling  Duncan  "  sissy,"  and  professed  to  believe 
that  Hiram  Nutt  was  justified  in  calling  him  a 
"  s'picious  character";  Roland  hinted  darkly  that 
Duncan  knew  New  York  no  better  than  Will 
Bigelow. 

"And  if  he  did  come  from  there,"  he  assev- 
erated, "  I  betcher  he  didn't  leave  for  no  good 
purpose." 

His  temper  inspired  me  with  the  sapient  reflec- 
tion that  it's  a  terrible  thing  to  be  in  love,  even  if 
only  with  an  old  man's  millions. 

"  There's  goin'  to  be  a  real  Noo  Yorker  here 
before  long,"  Roland  boasted;  "he's  comin'  to 
see  me  on  some  'special  private  bus'ness  of  ourn." 

"  Huh,"  commented  Tracey,  the  sceptical. 
"  What  kind  of  a  Noo  Yorker  'd  come  all  the  way 
here  to  see  you?" 


ROLAND   BARNETTE'S    FRIEND        161 

"That's  all  right.  You'll  see  when  he  gets 
here.  He's  a  pro-motor." 

"A  what?" 

"A  pro-motor,  a  financier."  Roland  pro- 
nounced it  "  finnan  seer,"  thus  betraying  symptoms 
of  culture  and  bewildering  Tracey  beyond  expres- 
sion. 

"What's  that?"  he  demanded  aggressively. 

"  That's  a  feller  't  can  take  nothing  at  all  and 
incorporate  it  and  make  money  out  of  it,"  Roland 
defined  with  some  hesitancy. 

"  And  that's  why  he's  coming  down  here  to  take 
a  look  at  you?  "  inquired  Tracey,  skipping  nimbly 
round  the  corner. 

Curiously  enough  in  my  understanding  (for  I 
own  to  no  great  faith  in  Roland's  statements,  tak- 
ing them  by  and  large)  his  friend  from  New  York 
put  in  an  unheralded  appearance  in  Radville  that 
same  night,  on  the  evening  train.  The  Bigelow 
House  received  him  to  its  figurative  bosom  under 
the  name  of  W.  H.  Burnham.  He  sent  for  Ro- 
land promptly  and  treated  him  to  a  dinner  at  the 
hotel ;  something  which  I  have  always  regarded  as 
a  punishment  several  sizes  too  large  for  the  crime. 
Later,  having  displayed  him  on  the  streets  in  wit- 
ness to  his  good  faith,  Roland  spent  the  evening 
with  Mr.  Burnham  mysteriously  confabulating 
behind  closed  doors  in  the  hotel.  Speculation  ran 
rife  through  the  town  until  nine  o'clock,  and  Ro- 


162  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

land  for  several  days  basked  in  the  heat  of  public 
interest. 

I  happened  accidentally  to  get  a  glimpse  of  Mr. 
Burnham  after  supper,  although  I  had  to  miss  my 
baked  apple  in  order  to  get  down  town  in  time. 
He  was  a  disappointment  to  some  extent,  although 
his  mode  of  dress  attracted  much  comment  as  be- 
ing far  more  sprightly  than  Duncan's  and  less 
startling  than  Roland's.  He  had  a  self-confident 
air  and  a  bit  of  swagger  that  filled  the  eye,  but  a 
face  and  a  voice  that  detracted,  the  one  too  boldly 
good-looking,  with  eyes  roving  and  predaceous, 
the  other  a  suggestion  too  loud  and  domineering. 
...  I  fear  association  with  Duncan  had  vitiated 
my  taste. 

However  that  may  be,  Roland  got  an  hour  off 
at  the  bank  the  following  morning,  and  the  pair 
of  them,  after  wandering  with  evident  aimlessness 
round  the  town,  drifted  as  it  were  on  the  tide  of 
hap-chance  into  Graham's  drug-store. 

Duncan  was  at  the  station,  superintending  the 
transportation  of  the  new  stock,  which  had  come 
by  the  early  local ;  Betty  was  busy  with  her  house- 
work upstairs ;  and  only  old  Sam  kept  the  shop. 

Sam  wasn't  in  the  best  of  spirits.  His  ever- 
green optimism  seldom  withered,  but  in  spite  of 
all  that  had  already  been  accomplished  in  behalf 
of  the  store,  in  spite  of  the  rosier  aspect  of  his 
declining  fortunes  and  his  confidence  in  and  af- 


ROLAND   BARNETTE'S   FRIEND        163 

fection  for  Duncan,  Sam  was  worried.  He  had 
been  over  to  the  bank  once,  even  at  that  early 
hour,  but  Blinky  Lockwood  had  driven  out  of 
town  to  see  about  foreclosing  one  of  his  numerous 
mortgages  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  his  note, 
which  fell  due  at  the  bank  that  day,  was  still  a 
weight  upon  Sam's  mind. 

Roland  and  Burnham  found  him  wandering 
nervously  round  the  store,  alternately  taking  his 
hat  down  from  the  peg,  as  if  minded  to  make  a 
second  trip  to  the  bank,  and  replacing  it  as  he 
realised  that  patience  was  his  part.  He  looked 
older  and  more  worn  than  ordinarily,  and  seemed 
distinctly  pleased  to  be  distracted  by  his  callers. 

"Why,  hello,  Roland!"  he  cried  cheerfully, 
hanging  up  his  hat  for  perhaps  the  twentieth  time. 
And,  "How  de  doo,  sir?"  he  greeted  the 
stranger. 

"  Good-morning,  sir,"  said  Burnham  pleasantly. 

"  Say,  Sam,"  Roland  blundered  with  his  usual 
adroitness,  "  this  gentleman " 

Burnham's  hand  fell  heavily  on  his  forearm  and 
he  checked  as  if  throttled. 

"What's  that,  Roland?"  Sam  turned  curi- 
ously to  them. 

"  Oh,  nothin' ;  I  was — er — just  going  to  say  that 
this  gentleman's  my  friend  from  Noo  York,  Mr. 
Burnham.  I  was  showin'  him  round  the  town  and 
we  just  happened  to  look  in." 


1 64  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"  The  friend  you  were  going  to  write  to  about 
my  burner?"  inquired  Sam.  "Well,  I'm  right 
glad  to  meet  you,  sir." 

It  was  here  that  Roland  got  a  look  from  Mr. 
Burnham  that  withered  him  completely.  His 
further  contributions  to  the  conversation  were 
somewhat  spasmodic  and  ineffectual. 

"Why,  no,  Mr.  Graham,"  Burnham  interposed 
deftly.  "Mr.  Barnette  must  Ve  been  talking  of 
someone  else  he  knew  in  New  York.  I — 

"  Didn't  know  he  knew  more'n  one  there,"  Sam 
observed  mildly. 

Burnham's  glance  jumped  warily  to  Sam's  face, 
but  withdrew  reassured,  having  detected  therein 
nothing  but  the  old  man's  kindly  and  simple  na- 
ture. "  At  all  events,"  he  continued,  "  I  don't  re- 
member hearing  anything  about  the  matter  (what 
did  you  call  it?  A  burner,  eh?)  from  Mr. 
Barnette." 

"  I  s'pose  Roland  forgot,"  Sam  allowed. 
"  He's  so  busy  courtin'  our  pretty  girls,  Mr. 
Burnham " 

"  Yes,  that  was  it,"  Roland  put  in  hastily,  see- 
ing his  chance  to  mend  matters.  "  I  did  intend  to 
write  you  about  it,  Mr.  Burnham,  but  it  kind  of 
slipped  my  mind.  We've  had  a  lot  of  important 
business  over  to  the  bank  recently." 

"  By  the  way,  Roland,  did  you  just  come  from 
the  bank?  Is  Mr.  Lockwood  back  yet?  " 


ROLAND    BARNETTE'S   FRIEND        165 

"  No;  I  got  off  this  morning.  I  don't  think  he 
is,  Sam.  Did  you  want  to  see  him?  " 

"  Well,  yes,"  Sam  admitted.  "  I  guess  you 
know  about  that,  Roland." 

"  Mean  business,  sometimes,  asking  favours  of 
these  bankers,  eh,  Mr.  Graham?"  Burnham  re- 
marked, much  too  casually  to  have  deceived  any- 
body but  old  Sam. 

Graham  nodded,  dolefully.  "  Yes,  it  Is  un- 
pleasant," he  admitted  confidingly.  "  You  see, 
there's  a  note  of  mine  come  due  to-day,  and  Fm 
not  able  to  take  care  of  it  or  pay  the  interest  just 
now.  .  .  ."  He  thought  it  over  gravely  for  a 
moment,  then  brightened.  "But  I  guess  it'll  be 
all  right.  Mr.  Lockwood's  kind,  very  kind." 

"  I'm  afraid  you're  a  little  too  sure,  Sam,"  Ro- 
land contributed  tactfully.  "  When  there's  money 
due  Lockwood,  he  wants  it,  and  most  times  he 
gets  it  or  its  equivalent." 

"  Yes,"  Sam  assented  sadly,  "  I  guess  he  does, 
mostly." 

"  But,"  Burnham  changed  the  subject  adroitly, 
"  what  was  this — burner,  did  you  say  ? — that  Mr. 
Barnette  forgot  to  tell  me  about?  " 

"  Oh,  just  one  of  my  inventions,  sir." 

"  I  understand  you're  quite  an  inventor?  " 

Sam's  smile  lightened  his  face  like  sunlight 
striking  a  snow-bound  field.  He  nodded  slowly, 
thinking  of  his  past  enthusiasms,  his  hopes  and 


166  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

discouragements.  "  I've  spent  most  of  my  life  at 
it,  sir,  but  somehow  nothing  has  ever  turned  out 
well  .  .  .  not  so  far,  I  mean.  But  I  mean  to 
hit  it  yet." 

"That's  the  way  to  talk,"  Burnham  cried 
heartily;  "never  give  up,  I  say!  .  .  .  But  tell 
me  about  some  of  these  inventions,  won't  you?  " 

"  Wel-1  "—Sam  knitted  his  fingers  and  pursed 
his  lips  reflectively — "  I  patented  a  new  type 
threshing  machine,  once,  but  I  couldn't  get  any- 
body to  take  hold  of  it.  You  see,  I  haven't  any 
money,  Mr.  Burnham." 

"  How  would  you  like  to  talk  it  over  with  me, 
some  time?  I'm  interested  in  such  things — as  a 
sort  of  side  issue." 

"Will  you?"  Sam's  eagerness  was  not  to  be 
disguised. 

"  Be  glad  to.  Tell  me,  how  did  you  get  your 
power?" 

"  From  gas,  sir — though  coal  will  do  'most  as 
well.  You  see,  I've  got  this  burner  patented,  that 
makes  gas  from  crude  oil — no  waste,  no  odour  nor 
trouble,  and  little  expense.  It'd  be  cheaper  than 
coal,  I  thought ;  that's  why  I  invented  it.  I  could 
get  steam  up  mighty  quick  with  that  gas  arrange- 
ment. I  use  it  for  lighting  here  in  the  store,  now." 

"  Do  you,  indeed?"  Burnham's  tone  indicated 
failing  interest,  but  such  diplomacy  was  lost  on 
Sam. 


ROLAND    BARNETTE'S   FRIEND        167 

"  If  you've  got  time,  I  could  show  you;  it's  right 
over  here." 

A  glance  at  his  watch  accompanied  Burnham's 
consent  to  spare  a  few  minutes.  "  There's  a  tele- 
gram I  must  send  presently,"  he  said.  "  But  I'd 
like  to  see  this  burner,  if  it  won't  take  long." 

"No,  not  long;  just  a  minute  or  two."  Sam 
was  already  dragging  the  affair  out  from  under 
the  window  box.  "  You  see  .  .  ." 

He  went  on  to  expound  its  virtues  with  all  the 
fond  enthusiasm  of  a  father  showing  off  his  first- 
born, and  wound  up  with  a  demonstration  of  the 
illuminating  appliance.  I'm  afraid,  though,  he 
got  little  encouragement  from  Mr.  Burnham.  He 
considered  the  machine  with  a  dispassionate  air, 
it's  true,  and  admitted  its  practical  advantages,  but 
wasn't  at  all  disposed  to  take  a  roseate  view  of  its 
future. 

"Yes,"  he  grudged,  when  Sam  put  a  match  to 
the  jet,  "  that's  certainly  a  very  good  light." 

"All  right,  ain't  it?"  chimed  Roland,  enthusi- 
astic. 

"  Oh,  it  may  amount  to  something.  It's  hard  to 
tell.  Of  course  you  know,  sir,"  he  continued,  ad- 
dressing Graham  directly,  "  you've  got  competi- 
tion to  overcome." 

Sam's  old  fingers  trembled  to  his  chin.  "  No-o," 
he  said,  "  I  didn't  know  that.  I've  got  the  pat- 
ent  " 


168  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"Of  course  that's  something.  But  the  Consoli- 
dated Petroleum  crowd  has  another  machine, 
slightly  different,  which  does  the  same  work,  and, 
I  should  say,  does  it  better." 

"Is — is  that  so?"  quavered  Sam.  "My  pat- 
ent  " 

"Now  see  here,  Mr.  Graham,"  Burnham  ar- 
gued, "  we're  practical  men,  both  of  us " 

"  No ;  I  shouldn't  say  that  about  myself,"  Sam 

interrupted.  "  Now  you,  sir 1  can  see  you're 

a  man  who  understands  such  things.  But  I " 

"  Nevertheless,  you  must  know  that  a  patent 
isn't  everything.  You  said  a  moment  ago  a  man 
had  to  have  money  to  make  anything  out  of  his 
inventions." 

"  Did  I?  "  Sam  interjected,  surprised. 

"  Certainly  you  did;  and  dead  right  you  are.  A 
patent's  all  very  well,  but  supposing  you're  up 
against  a  powerful  competitor  like  the  Consoli- 
dated Petroleum  Company.  They've  got  a  pat- 
ent, too.  Granted  it  may  be  an  infringement  of 
yours  even — what  can  you  do  against  them." 

"  Why,  if  it's  an  infringement " 

"  Sue,  of  course.  But  do  you  suppose  they're 
going  to  lie  down  just  because  an  unknown  and 
penniless  inventor  sues  them?  Bless  you,  no! 
They'll  fight  to  the  last  ditch,  they'll  engage  the 
best  legal  talent  in  the  country.  You'll  have  to 
carry  the  case  to  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United 


ROLAND    BARNETTE'S   FRIEND      -169 

States  if  you  want  a  winning  decision.  And  that's 
going  to  cost  you  thousands — hundreds  of  thou- 
sands— a  million " 

"  Never  mind;  a  thousand's  enough,"  said  Sam 
gently.  "  I  see  what  you  mean,  sir.  It's  just  an- 
other case  where  I've  got  no  chance." 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  put  it  as  strong  as  that " 

"  But  I  have  no  money." 

"  Still,  you  never  can  tell.  I'll  think  it  over,  if 
I  get  time." 

"  Why,  that's  kind  of  you,  sir,  very  kind." 

It  was  at  this  point  that  Roland  rose  to  the  oc- 
casion like  the  noble  ass  he  is.  Roland  never  could 
see  more  than  an  inch  beyond  the  end  of  his 
nose. 

"  Say,  Mr.  Burnham,"  he  floundered,  "  don't 
you  think  you  could  help  Sam  to " 

"  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Burnham,  with  additional 
business  of  looking  at  his  watch,  "  I'd  like  to  send 
that  wire  I  spoke  of." 

"Yes,  Roland,"  Sam  agreed  meekly;  "you 
mustn't  keep  your  friend  from  his  business.  I'm 
glad  you  looked  in,  sir.  .You'll  call  again,  I 
hope." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Burnham,  moving  toward 
the  door. 

It  was  too  much  for  Roland's  sense  of  oppor- 
tunity. He  rolled  in  Burnham's  wake,  sullenly  re- 
luctant. "  Say,  Mr.  Burnham,"  he  exploded  as 


i7o  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

they  got  to  the  door,  "  if  you'll  just  offer  Sam 
five " 

"  That  will  do!"  Roland  collapsed  as  if  punc- 
tured. Burnham  turned  to  Graham  with  a  wave 
of  his  hand.  "  I'm  leaving  on  the  afternoon  train, 
but  if  I  get  time  I  may  drop  in  again  and  talk 
things  over  with  you.  There  might  be  something 
in  that  threshing  machine  you  mentioned." 

"  I'll  be  glad  to  show  you  anything  I've  got 
here  .  .  ." 

"  All  right.  Good-day.  I'll  see  you  again,  per- 
haps." 

This  cavalier  snub  was  lost  on  Sam,  an  essential 
of  whose  serene  soul  is  the  quality  of  humility. 
He  followed  them  to  the  door,  as  grateful  as  a  lost 
dog  for  a  stray  pat  instead  of  a  kick.  "  Good-day, 
sir.  Good-day,  Roland,"  he  sped  their  parting 
cheerfully. 

But  it  was  a  broken  man  who  shut  the  door  be- 
hind them  and  turned  back,  fingering  his  grey 
chin.  There  must  have  been  a  dimness  in  his  eyes 
and  a  quiver  to  his  wide-lipped,  generous  mouth. 

"  Perhaps  Mr.    Burnham  was  right 
Only  I  was  kind  of  hopin'     .     .     .     Now  Mr. 
Lockwood  over  there    .    .    ." 

He  shook  himself  to  throw  off  the  spell  of  de- 
pression and  somehow  managed  to  quicken  again 
his  abiding  faith  in  the  essential  goodness  of  the 
world. 


ROLAND   BARNETTE'S   FRIEND       171 

"  Well,  well !    He's  kind,  very  kind." 

He  began  to  restore  his  model  to  its  hiding 
place,  musing  upon  the  ebb-tide  in  his  affairs  in 
his  muddle-headed  way,  and  in  the  process  man- 
aged to  convince  himself  that  "  it  'ud  all  come 
right." 

"  With  this  young  man  in  here,  and  everythin' 
gettin'  fixed  up,  and  new  stock  comin'  in  ... 
I'm  sure  Mr.  Lockwood  '11  see  it  the  right  way 
.  .  .  for  us.  ...  He's  kind,  very  kind." 

Thus  it  was  that  he  presently  called  up  the 
stairs  in  a  very  cheerful  voice :  "  Betty,  are  you 
pretty  near  through  up  there?  " 

The  girl's  weary  voice  came  down  to  him  with- 
out accent:  "  Yes,  father,  almost." 

"  Well,  then,  you  keep  an  eye  on  the  store, 
please.  I'm  goin'  to  step  out  for  a  minute." 

"Yes,  father." 

"And  if — if  anybody  asks  for  me,  I'll  most 
likely  be  down  to  the  depot,  with  Mr.  Duncan." 

He  didn't  mention  that  he  contemplated  calling 
on  Lockwood,  because  he  feared  it  might  worry 
Betty.  .  .  .  As  if  a  woman  doesn't  always  un- 
derstand when  things  are  going  wrong ! 

Betty  knew,  or  rather  divined.  And  she  had  no 
hope,  no  faith  such  as  made  Sam  what  he  was. 
She  came  down  the  steps  listlessly,  overborne  by 
her  knowledge  of  the  world's  wrongness.  The 
glance  with  which  she  comprehended  the  reno- 


172  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

vated  shop  was  bitter  with  contempt.  What  was 
the  worth  of  all  this?  Nothing  good  would  come 
of  it;  nothing  good  came  of  anything.  Life  was 
drab  and  dreary,  made  up  of  weary,  profitless 
years  and  months  and  weeks  and  days,  to  each  its 
appointed  disappointment. 

Only  her  sense  of  duty  sustained  her.  She  owed 
something  to  old  Sam  for  the  gift  of  life,  dismal 
though  she  found  it.  He  needed  her;  what  she 
could  do  for  him  she  would.  I  have  always  thought 
that  her  affection  for  her  father  was  less  filial  than 
maternal.  He  seemed  such  a  child,  she — so  very 
old!  She  mothered  him;  it  was  her  only  joy  to 
care  for  him.  Her  care  was  constant,  unfailing, 
omniscient.  In  return  she  got  only  his  love.  But 
it  was  almost  enough — almost,  not  quite,  dearly  as 
she  prized  it.  There  were  other  things  a  girl 
should  have — indeed,  must  have,  if  her  life  were 
to  be  rounded  out  in  fulness.  And  these,  she 
understood,  were  forever  denied  her:  apples  of 
Paradise  growing  in  her  sight,  heartrending  in 
their  loveliness  so  far  beyond  her  reach.  .  .  . 

Sighing,  she  went  to  work.  In  work  only  could 
she  forget.  .  .  .  The  soda  glasses  needed 
cleaning,  and  the  syrup  jars  replenishing  (for  the 
new  order  of  syrups  had  come  in  the  previous 
evening) . 

After  a  time,  to  a  tune  of  pounding  feet,  Tracey 
Tanner  pranced  into  the  shop  with  all  the  graceful 


ROLAND   BARNETTE'S   FRIEND        173 

abandon  of  a  young  elephant  feeling  its  oats.  His 
face  was  fairly  scarlet  from  exertion  and  his  eyes 
bulging  with  a  sense  of  importance.  The  girl 
looked  up  without  interest,  nodding  slightly  in 
response  to  his  breathless:  " 'Lo,  Betty." 

"  Father's  gone  out,"  she  said,  holding  a  glass 
to  the  light,  suspicious  of  the  lint  from  her  dish 
towel. 

"  I  know — seen  him  down  the  street."  The  boy 
halted  at  the  counter,  producing  a  handful  of 
square  envelopes.  "  Note  for  you  from  the  Lock- 
woods,  Betty,"  he  panted.  "Josie  ast  me  to 
bring  it  round." 

Betty  put  down  her  glass  in  consternation. 
From  the  Lockwoods?" 

"  Uh-huh."  Tracey  offered  it,  but  she  withheld 
her  hand,  dubious. 

"  For  me,  Tracey?" 

"  Uh-huh.  It's  a  ninvitation.  I  got  four  more 
to  take."  He  thrust  it  into  her  reluctant  fin- 
gers. "  Got  five,  really,  but  one  of  'em's  for 
me." 

"  An  invitation,  Tracey !  " 

"  Yeh.  Hope  you  have  a  good  time  when  it 
comes  off."  Already  he  was  bouncing  toward  the 
door.  "  Goo'-bye." 

"But  what  is  it,  Tracey?" 

"Aw,  it  tells  in  the  ninvitation.     S'long." 

"  From  the  Lockwoods!  "  she  whispered. 


174  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Suddenly  she  tore  it  open,  her  hands  unsteady 
with  nervousness. 

The  envelope  contained  a  square  of  heavy  card- 
board of  a  creamy  tint  with  scalloped  edges 
touched  with  gold.  On  the  face  of  the  card  a 
round  and  formless  hand  had  traced  with  evident 
pains  the  information : 

Miss  Josephine  Mae  Lockwood 

Requests  the  Pleasure  of  your  Company  at  a  Lawn 
Fete  and  Dance  to  be  held  at  the  residence  of  her  Parents, 
Mr.  &  Mrs.  Geo.  Lockwood,  Saturday  July  15,  at  8  p.  m. 

R.  S.  V.  P. 

The  envelope  fluttered  to  the  floor  while  the 
card  was  crushed  between  the  girl's  hands.  For  a 
moment  her  face  was  transfigured  with  delight, 
her  eyes  blank  with  rapturous  visions  of  the  joys 
of  that  promised  night. 

"Oh!    .    .    .    it 'ud  be  grand!    .    .    ." 

Then  suddenly  the  light  faded.  Her  eyes 
clouded,  her  face  settled  into  its  discontented 
lines.  She  stuffed  the  card  heedlessly  into  the 
pocket  of  her  dingy  apron,  and  took  up  another 
glass. 

"But  I  can't  go;  I've  got  nothin'  to 
wear.  ." 


XI 

BLINKY   LOCKWOOD 

SHE  was  scrubbing  blindly  at  the  same  glass  when, 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  Blinky  Lockwood 
strode  into  the  store,  his  right  eye  twitching  more 
violently  than  usual,  as  it  always  does  in  his  phases 
of  mental  disturbance — as  when,  for  instance,  he 
fears  he's  going  to  lose  a  dollar. 

Lockwood  is  that  type  of  man  who  was  born  to 
grow  rich.  He  inherited  a  farm  or  two  in  the 
vicinity  of  Radville  and  the  one  over  Westerly 
way,  to  which  I  have  referred,  and  .  .  .  well, 
we've  a  homely  paraphrase  of  a  noted  aphorism 
in  Radville:  "Them  as  has,  gits."  Lockwood 
had,  to  begin  with,  and  he  made  it  his  business  to 
get ;  and,  as  is  generally  the  case  in  this  unbalanced 
world  of  ours,  things  came  to  him  to  which  he  had 
never  aspired.  Fortune  favoured  him  because  he 
had  no  need  of  her  favours;  the  discovery  of  coal 
under  his  Westerly  acres  was  wholly  adventitious, 
but  it  made  him  far  and  away  the  richest  man  in 
Radville — with  the  possible  exception  of  old 
Colonel  Bohun's  traditional  millions. 

In  person  he  is  as  beautiful  as  a  snake-fence,  as 
175 


176  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

alluring  as  a  stone  wall.  Something  over  six  feet 
in  height,  he  walks  with  a  stoop  (one  hand  always 
in  a  trouser-pocket  jingling  silver)  that  materially 
detracts  from  his  stature.  His  face,  like  his  fig- 
ure, is  gaunt  and  lanky,  his  nose  an  emaciated 
beak;  his  mouth  illustrates  his  attitude  toward 
property — is  a  trap  from  which  nothing  of  value 
ever  escapes;  his  eyes  are  small  and  hard  and  set 
close  together  under  lowering  brows.  He's  griz- 
zled, with  hair  not  actually  white,  but  grey  as 
the  iron  from  which  his  heart  was  fashioned. 
Aside  from  these  characteristics  his  principal  pe- 
culiarity is  a  nervous  twitching  of  the  right  eye 
which  has  earned  him  his  sobriquet  of  Blinky. 
Legrand  Gunn  said  he  contracted  the  affliction 
through  squinting  at  the  silver  dollar  to  make  sure 
none  of  its  milling  had  been  worn  off.  ...  I 
have  never  known  the  man  to  wear  anything  but  a 
rusty  old  frock  coat,  black,  of  course,  and  black 
and  shiny  broadcloth  trousers,  with  a  hat  that  has 
always  a  coating  of  dust  so  thick  that  it  seems  a 
mottled  grey. 

He  grunts  his  words,  a  grunt  to  each.  He 
grunted  at  Betty  when  he  saw  her. 

"  Where's  your  father?  " 

She  put  down  her  glass  and  dish-rag.  "  I  don't 
know,  sir." 

"Don't  know,  eh?"  he  asked  in  an  indescrib- 
ably offensive  tone. 


BLINKY    LOCKWOOD  177 

"  I  think  he  went  to  the  bank  to  see  you." 

"Oh,  he  did,  eh?  Did  he  have  anything  for 
me."  . 

The  girl  took  up  another  glass.  "  I  don't 
know,  sir,"  she  said  wearily.  "  I'm  afraid  not." 

"  Well,  if  he  didn't  there's  no  use  seein'  me.  It 
won't  do  him  any  good." 

"  I  guess  he  knows  that,"  she  returned  with  a 
little  flash  of  spirit. 

Lockwood  looked  her  up  and  down  as  if  he  had 
never  seen  her  before,  then  summarised  his  resent- 
ful impression  of  her  attitude  in  an  open  sneer. 
"Does,  eh?  Well,  that's  a  good  thing:  saves 
talk." 

She  contained  herself,  saying  nothing.  He 
glared  round  the  place,  remarking  the  improve- 
ments. 

"  You  don't  do  no  business  here,  not  to  speak  of, 
do  ye?" 

"  No,"  she  admitted  without  interest,  "  not  to 
speak  of." 

"  Then  what's  the  good  of  all  this  foolishness, 
fixing  up?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Costs  money,  don't  it  ?  " 

"  I  guess  so." 

"  And  that  money  belongs  to  me." 

"  It's  Mr.  Duncan's  doing.  Father  ain't  pay- 
ing for  it.  He  can't." 


178  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

"What's  he  doin',  then?  Sittin'  round  foolin' 
with  his  inventions,  ain't  he?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What's  he  inventin'  now?  " 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  it."  She  pointed  to 
the  model  beneath  the  window.  "  That's  the  last 
thing,  I  guess." 

Blinky  snorted  and  stamped  over  to  the  win- 
dow, stooping  to  peer  at  the  machine.  "  What's 
the  good  of  that?"  he  demanded,  disdainful;  and 
without  waiting  for  her  response  went  on  nagging. 
"  Foolishness  I  That's  what  it  is.  Why  don't  you 
tell  him  not  to  waste  his  time  this  way?  " 

"Because  he  likes  it,"  said  Betty  hopelessly. 
"  It's  the  only  thing  that  makes  life  worth  while  to 
him.  So  I  let  him  alone." 

"What  difference  does  that  make?  It  don't 
bring  him  in  nothin',  does  it?  " 

"No    .     .     ." 

"  Nor  do  any  good?  " 

"  No." 

"No,  siree,  it  don't.  He'd  oughter  stop  it. 
What  does  he  do  with  them  things  when  he  gets 
'em  finished?" 

"  Patents  them." 

"And  then  what?" 

"  Nothin'  that  I  know  of." 

"  That's  it;  nothing — nor  ever  will.  Well,  he's 
been  getting  money  from  me  for  those  patents — I 


SLINKY   LOCKWOOD  179 

thought  at  fust  there  might  be  somethin'  in  'em — 
but  he  won't  any  more.  I'd  oughter  had  more 
sense." 

A  little  colour  spotted  the  girl's  sallow  cheeks. 
"  He'd  never  ha'  got  money  from  you  if  he  hadn't 
thought  he  could  pay  it  back,"  she  told  Blinky 
hotly. 

"  No,  nor  if  I  hadn't  thought  he  could " 

She  interjected  a  significant  "Huh!"  He 
broke  off  abruptly,  pale  with  anger. 

"  Well,  I  want  to  see  him,  and  I  want  to  see 
him  before  noon,"  he  snapped.  "  I'm  goin'  over 
to  the  bank,  an'  if  he  knows  what's  good  for  him 
he'll  come  there  pretty  darn  quick." 

"  I'll  try  to  find  him  for  you ;  he  must  be  some- 
where round,"  she  offered. 

"  Well,  you  better.  I  ain't  got  much  patience 
to-day." 

He  swung  on  one  heel  and  slouched  out,  as 
Betty  turned  to  go  upstairs.  Presently  she  reap- 
peared pinning  on  her  sad  little  hat,  and  left  the 
store. 

It  was  upwards  of  an  hour  before  she  returned, 
walking  quickly  and  very  erect,  with  her  head  up 
and  shoulders  back,  her  eyes  suspiciously  bright, 
the  spots  of  colour  in  her  cheeks  blazing  scarlet, 
her  mouth  set  and  hard,  the  little  work-worn  hands 
at  her  sides  clenched  tightly  as  if  for  self-control. 
Even  old  Sam,  who  had  returned  from  the  depot 


i8o  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

after  missing  Blinky  at  the  bank — even  he,  blind  as 
he  ordinarily  was,  saw  instantly  that  something 
was  wrong  with  the  child. 

"  Why,  Betty ! "  he  cried  in  solicitude  as  she 
flung  into  the  store — "  Betty,  dear,  what's  the  mat- 
ter?" 

For  an  instant  she  seemed  speechless.  Then 
she  tore  the  hat  from  her  head  and  cast  it  regard- 
lessly  upon  the  counter.  "  Father !  "  she  cried. 
"  Father !  " — and  gulped  to  down  her  emotion. 
"  Can  you  get  me  some  money?  " 

"  Money?    Why,  Betty,  what ?  " 

Her  foot  came  down  on  the  floor  impatiently. 
"  Can  you  get  me  some  money?  "  she  repeated  in 
a  breath. 

"  Well— er— how  much,  Betty?  "  He  tried  to 
touch  her,  to  take  her  to  his  arms,  but  she  moved 
away,  her  sorry  little  figure  quivering  from  head 
to  feet. 

"  Enough,"  she  said,  half  sobbing — "  enough 
to  buy  a  dress — a  nice  dress — a  dress  that  will  sur- 
prise folks " 

"  But  tell  me  what  the  matter  is,  Betty.  Want- 
ing a  dress  would  never  upset  you  like  this." 

She  whipped  the  cracked  and  crumpled  card 
from  her  pocket  and  pushed  it  into  his  hand. 
"  Look  at  that !  "  she  bade  him,  and  turned  away, 
struggling  with  all  her  might  to  keep  back  the 
tears. 


BLINKY    LOCKWOOD  181 

He  read,  his  old  face  softening.  "  Josie  Lock- 
wood's  party,  eh?  And  she's  sent  you  an  in- 
vitation. Well,  that  was  kind  of  her,  very 
kind." 

She  swung  upon  him  in  a  fury.  "No,  it  was 
not  kind.  It  was  mean.  ...  It  was  mean !  " 

"Oh,  Betty,"  he  begged  in  consternation, 
"  don't  say  that.  I'm  sure " 

"  Oh,  you  don't  know.  ...  I  heard  the 
girls  talking  in  the  post-office — Angie  Tuthill  and 
Mame  Garrison  and  Bessie  Gabriel.  ...  I  was 
round  by  the  boxes  where  they  couldn't  see  me, 
but  I  could  hear  them,  and  they  were  laughing 
because  I  was  invited.  They  said  the  reason  Josie 
did  it  was  because  she  knew  I  didn't  have  anything 
to  wear,  and  she  wanted  to  hear  what  excuse  I'd 
make  for  not  going.  Ah,  I  heard  them !  " 

"Oh,  but  Betty,  Betty,"  he  pleaded;  "don't 
you  mind  what  they  say.  Don't " 

"  But  I  do  mind;  I  can't  help  mindin'.  They're 
mean."  She  paused,  her  features  hardening.  "  I'm 
going  to  that  party,"  she  declared  tensely:  "  I'm 
goin'  to  that  party  and — and  I'm  goin'  to  have  a 
dress  to  go  in,  too !  I  don't  care  what  I  do — I'm 
goin'  to  have  that  dress! " 

Sam  would  have  soothed  her  as  best  he  might, 
but  she  would  neither  look  at  nor  come  near  him. 

"  We'll  see,"  he  said  gently.    "We'll  see.    I'll 


182  THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

She  turned  on  him,  exasperated  beyond  thought. 
"  That  only  means  you  can't  help  me !  " 

"  Oh,  no,  it  doesn't.    I'll  do  what  I  can " 

"  Have  you  got  any  money  now?  " 

He  hung  his  head  to  avoid  her  blazing  eyes. 
"  Well,  no — not  at  present,  but  here's  this  new 
stock  and " 

"  That  doesn't  mean  anything,  and  you  know  it. 
You  owe  that  note  to  Mr.  Lockwood,  don't  you? 
And  you  can't  pay  it?  " 

"  Not  to-day,  Betty,  but  he'll  give  me  a  little 
more  time,  I'm  sure.  He's  kind,  very  kind." 

"You  don't  know  him.  He's  as  mean — as 
mean  as  dirt — as  mean  as  Josie." 

"Betty!" 

"  Then  if  you  did  get  any  money  you'd  have  to 
give  it  to  him,  wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but — I'm  sure — I  think  it'll  come  all 
right." 

"Ah,  what's  the  use  of  talkin'  that  way? 
What's  the  use  of  talkin'  at  all?  I  know  you  can't 
do  anything  for  me,  and  so  do  you !  " 

Sam  had  dropped  into  his  chair,  unable  to  stand 
before  this  storm;  he  stared  now,  mute  with 
amazement,  at  this  child  who  had  so  long,  so  un- 
complainingly, shared  his  poverty  and  privations, 
grown  suddenly  to  the  stature  of  a  woman — and  a 
tormented,  passionate  woman,  stung  to  the  quick 
by  the  injustice  of  her  lot.  He  put  out  a  hand  in  a 


BLINKY    LOCKWOOD  183 

feeble  gesture  of  placation,  but  she  brushed  it 
away  as  she  bent  toward  him,  speaking  so  quickly 
that  her  words  stumbled  and  ran  into  one  another. 

"  I  can't  understand  it!  "  she  raged.  "  Why  is 
it  that  I  have  to  be  more  shabby  than  any  other 
girl  in  town?  Why  is  it  that  the  others  have  all 
the  fun  and  I  all  the  drudgery?  Why  is  it  that  I 
can't  ever  go  anywhere  with  the  boys  and  girls 
and  laugh  and — and  have  a  good  time  like  the  rest 
do?  .  .  ." 

Sam  bent  his  head  to  the  blast.  In  his  lap  his 
hands  worked  nervously.  But  he  could  not  an- 
swer her. 

"  It  ain't  that  I  mind  the  cookin'  and  doin'  the 
housework  and — all  the  rest — but — why  is  it  you 
can  never  give  me  anything  at  all?  Why  must 
it  be  that  everyone  looks  down  on  us  and  sneers 
and  laughs  at  us?  Why  is  it  that  half  the  time  we 
haven't  got  enough  to  eat?  .  .  .  Other  men 
manage  to  take  care  of  their  families  and  give 
their  children  things  to  wear.  You've  got  only  us 
two  to  look  after,  and  you  can't  even  do  that.  It 
isn't  right,  it  isn't  decent,  and  if  I  were  you  I'd 
be  ashamed  of  myself !  " 

Her  temper  had  spent  itself,  and  with  this  final 
cry  she  checked  abruptly,  with  a  catch  at  her 
breath  for  shame  of  what  she  had  let  herself  say. 
But,  childlike,  she  was  not  ready  to  own  her  sor- 
row; and  she  turned  her  back,  trembling. 


184  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Sam,  too,  was  shaken.  In  his  heart  he  knew 
there  was  justification  for  her  indictment,  truth  in 
what  she  had  said.  And  he  was  heartbroken  for 
her.  He  got  up  unsteadily  and  put  a  gentle  hand 
upon  her  shoulder. 

"Why,  Betty— I— I " 

A  dry  sob  interrupted  him.  He  pulled  himself 
together  and  forced  his  voice  to  a  tone  of  confi- 
dence. "  Just  be  a  little  patient,  dear.  I'm  sure 
things  will  be  better  with  us,  soon.  Just  a  little 
more  patience — that's  all.  .  .  .  Why,  there 
was  a  gentleman  here  this  morning,  from  Noo 
York  City,  talkin'  about  an  invention  of  mine." 

The  girl  moved  restlessly,  shaking  off  his  hand. 
"Invention!  "  she  echoed  bitterly.  "  Oh,  father! 
Everybody  knows  they're  no  good.  You've  been 
wastin'  time  on  'em  ever  since  I  can  remember, 
and  you've  never  made  a  dollar  out  of  one  yet." 

He  bowed  to  the  truth  of  this,  then  again 
braced  up  bravely.  "  But  this  gentleman  seemed 
quite  interested.  He's  over  to  the  Bigelow  House 

now.    I  think  I'll  step  over  and  have  a  talk  with 
i  •    » 

"  You'd  much  better  go  and  have  a  talk  with 
Blinky  Lockwood,"  she  told  him  brutally.  "  He's 
waitin'  for  you  at  the  bank,  and  said  he  wasn't 
goin'  to  wait  after  twelve  o'clock,  neither!" 

"  Wel-1,  perhaps  you're  right.  I'll  go  there.  It's 
after  twelve,  but  .  .  ."  He  started  to  get  his 


BLINKY    LOCKWOOD  185 

hat  and  stopped  with  an  exclamation:  "Why, 
Nat!  I  didn't  know  you'd  got  back  I  " 

Duncan  was  at  the  back  of  the  store,  clearing 
the  last  remnants  of  the  old  stock  from  the  shelves. 
"  Yes,"  he  said  pleasantly,  without  turning,  "  I've 
been  here  some  time,  cleaning  up  the  cellar,  to 
make  room  for  the  stuff  that's  coming  in.  I  came 
upstairs  just  a  moment  ago,  but  you  were  so  busy 
talking  you  didn't  notice  me." 

He  paused,  swept  the  empty  shelves  with  a  cal- 
culating glance,  and  came  out  around  the  end  of 
the  counter.  "  Everything's  in  tip-top  shape,"  he 
said.  "  I  checked  up  the  bill  of  lading  myself, 
and  there's  not  a  thing  missing,  not  a  bit  of  break- 
age. Mr.  Graham,"  he  continued,  dropping  a 
gentle  hand  on  the  old  man's  shoulder,  "  you're 
going  to  have  the  finest  drug-store  in  the  State 
within  six  months.  With  the  stuff  that  Sperry  has 
sent  us  we  can  make  Sothern  and  Lee  look  like 
sixty-five  cents  on  the  dollar.  .  .  .  We're  going 
to  make  things  hum  in  this  old  shop,  and  don't  you 
forget  it."  He  laughed  lightly,  with  a  note  of  en- 
couragement. But  he  avoided  Graham's  eyes  even 
as  he  did  Betty's.  He  could  not  meet  the  pitiful 
look  of  the  former,  any  more  than  that  stare  of 
hostility  and  defiance  in  the  latter. 

"  It's  good  of  you,  my  boy,"  Graham  quavered. 
"  I — but  I'm  afraid  it  won't " 

"Now   don't   say   that!"    Duncan    interposed 


i86  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

firmly.  "  And  don't  let  me  keep  you.  I  think  you 
said  you  were  going  out  on  business?  And  I'll  be 
busy  enough  right  here." 

And  without  exactly  knowing  how  it  had  come 
about,  Graham  found  himself  in  the  street,  stum- 
bling downtown,  toward  the  bank. 

When  he  had  gone,  Duncan  would  have  re- 
turned to  the  shelves  for  a  final  redding-up.  He 
desired  least  of  all  things  an  encounter  with  Betty 
in  her  present  frame  of  mind,  and  he  tried  his 
level  best  to  seem  as  one  who  had  heard  nothing, 
who  was  only  concerned  with  his  occupation  of 
the  moment.  But  from  the  instant  that  she  had 
been  made  aware  of  his  presence  Betty  had  been 
watching  him  with  smouldering  eyes,  wondering 
how  much  he  had  heard  and  what  he  was  think- 
ing of  her.  The  keen  repentance  that  gnawed  at 
her  heart,  allied  with  shame  that  an  alien  should 
have  been  private  to  her  exhibition,  half  mad- 
dened the  child.  With  a  sudden  movement  she 
threw  herself  in  front  of  Duncan,  thrusting  her 
white,  drawn  face  before  his,  her  gaze  searching 
his  half  in  anger,  half  in  morose  distrust. 

"  So  you  were  listening!  " 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  said  uncomfortably. 

She  drew  a  pace  away,  holding  herself  very 
straight  while  she  threw  him  a  level  glance  of  un- 
qualified contempt. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  hear  anything,"  he  argued 


BLINKY   LOCKWOOD  187 

plaintively.  "  I  was  in  the  room  before  I  under- 
stood, and  by  the  time  I  did,  it  was  too  late — 
you  had  finished." 

"  Oh,  don't  try  to  explain.    I — I  hate  you !  " 

He  held  her  eyes  inquiringly.  "  Yes,"  he  said 
in  the  tone  of  one  who  solves  a  puzzling  prob- 
lem, "  I  believe  you  do." 

She  looked  away,  shaking  with  passion.  "  You 
just  better  believe  it." 

"But,"  he  went  on  quietly,  "you  don't  hate 
your  father,  too,  do  you,  Miss  Graham?" 

She  swung  back  to  meet  his  stare  with  one  that 
flamed  with  indignation. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Mr.  Duncan?  " 

"  I  mean,"  he  said,  faltering  in  where  one  wiser 
would  have  feared  to  venture — "  I'm  going  to 
give  you  a  bit  of  advice.  Don't  you  talk  to  your 
father  again  the  way  you  did  just  now." 

"  What  business  is  that  of  yours?  " 

"  None,"  he  admitted  fairly.  "  But  just  the 
same  I  wouldn't,  if  I  were  you." 

"  Well,  you  ain't  me !  "  she  cried  savagely. 
"You  ain't  me!  Understand  that?  When  I  want 
advice  from  you,  I'll  ask  for  it.  Until  I  do,  you 
let  me  alone." 

"  Very  well,"  he  replied,  so  calmly  that  she  lost 
her  bearings  for  a  moment.  And  inevitably  this, 
emphasising  as  it  did  all  that  she  resented  most  in 
him — his  education,  wit,  address,  his  advantages 


i88  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

of  every  sort — only  served  further  to  infuriate  the 
child. 

"  Oh,  I  know  why  you  talk  that  way,"  she  said, 
rubbing  her  poor  little  hands  together. 

"  Do  you?"  he  asked  in  wonder. 

"Yes,  I  do-you!     .     .     ." 

Suddenly  she  found  words — poverty-stricken 
words,  it's  true,  but  the  best  she  had  wherewith  to 
express  herself.  And  for  a  little  they  flowed  from 
her  lips,  a  scalding,  scathing  torrent.  "  It's  because 
you  go  to  church  all  the  time  and  try  to  look  like 
a  saint  and — and  try  to  make  out  you're  too  re- 
ligious for  anything,  and  like  to  hear  yourself 
givin'  Christian  advice  to  poor  miserable  sinners — 
like  me.  You  think  that's  just  too  lovely  of  you. 
That's  why  you  said  it,  if  you  want  to  know. 
.  .  .  Folks  wonder  what  you're  doing  here, 
don't  they?  Guess  you  know  that — and  like  it, 
too.  It  makes  'em  look  at  you  and  talk  about  you, 
and  that's  what  you  like.  /  could  tell  'em.  You're 
only  here  to  show  off  your  good  clothes  and  your 
finger-nails  and  the  way  you  part  your  hair  and — • 
and  all  the  other  things  you  do  that  nobody  in 
Noo  York  would  pay  any  attention  to !  " 

He  faced  her  soberly,  attentively.  She  was  a 
little  fool,  he  knew,  and  making  a  ridiculous  fig- 
ure of  herself.  But — his  innate  honesty  told  him 
— she  was  right,  in  a  way;  she  had  hit  upon  his 
weakest  point.  He  was  in  Radville  to  "show 


BLINKY    LOCKWOOD  189 

off,"  as  she  would  have  said,  to  make  an  impres- 
sion and  ...  to  reap  the  reward  thereof.  The 
way  she  spoke  was  ludicrous,  but  what  she  said 
was  mostly  plain  truth.  He  nodded  submissively. 

"  A  pretty  good  guess  at  that,"  he  acknowl- 
edged candidly. 

"  Yes,  it  is,  and  I  know  it,  and  you  know  it. 
.  .  .  Oh,  it's  easy  enough  to  give  advice  when 
you've  got  plenty  of  money  and  fine  clothes  and 
...  but  ..  ." 

"  I  understand,"  he  said  when  she  paused  to  get 
a  grip  upon  herself  and  find  again  the  words  she 
needed.  "  You  needn't  say  any  more.  The  only 
reason  I  said  what  I  did  was  because  I'm  strong 
for  your  father  and  .  .  .  well,  I  wanted  to  do 
you  a  good  turn,  too." 

"  I  don't  want  any  of  your  good  turns !  " 

"  Then  I  apologise." 

"  And  I  don't  want  your  apologies,  neither!  " 

"  All  right,  only  .  .  .  think  over  what  I  said, 
some  time." 

"  I  had  a  good  reason  for  saying  what  I  did." 

"  I  know  you  had." 

"You  know  I  had!"  She  looked  at  him 
askance.  She  had  been  on  the  point  of  relenting  a 
little,  of  calming,  of  being  a  bit  ashamed  of  her- 
self. But  his  quiet  acquiescence  rekindled  her  re- 
sentment. "  How  do  you  know?  You!"  she  said 
bitterly. 


190  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"  Because  I'm  not  what  you  think  I  am,  alto- 
gether." 

"  I  guess  you're  not,"  she  observed  acidly. 

"  But  I  don't  mean  what  you  mean.  I  mean 
you  think  I'm  conceited  and  rich  and  don't  know 
what  trouble  is.  Well,  you're  mistaken.  I've  been 
up  against  it  the  worst  way  for  five  years,  and  I 
know  just  how  it  feels  to  see  other  people  getting 
up  in  the  world  when  you're  at  the  bottom  of  the 
heap  with  no  chance  of  squirming  out — to  know 
that  they  have  things  you  haven't  got  any  chance 
of  getting.  I've  been  through  the  mill  myself. 
Why,  I've  kept  out  of  the  way  for  days  and  days 
rather  than  let  my  prosperous  friends  see  how 
shabby  I  was.  Many's  the  time  I've  dodged 
round  corners  to  avoid  meeting  men  I  knew 
would  invite  me  to  have  dinner  or  luncheon  or 
a  drink — of  soda — or  something,  for  fear  they'd 
find  out  that  I  couldn't  treat  in  return.  Many  a 
time  I've  gone  hungry  for  days  and  weeks  and 
slept  on  park  benches  .  .  .  until  an  old  friend 
found  me  and  took  me  home  with  him." 

The  ring  of  sincerity  in  his  manner  and  tone 
silenced  the  girl,  impressed  her  with  the  convic- 
tion of  his  absolute  sincerity.  The  tumult  in  her 
mind  quieted.  She  eyed  him  with  attention,  even 
with  interest  temporarily  untinged  with  resent- 
ment. And  seeing  that  he  had  succeeded  in  gain- 


BLINKY    LOCKWOOD  191 

ing  this  much  ground  in  her  regard,  Duncan  dared 
further,  pushing  his  advantage  to  its  limits. 

"  But  it's  your  father  I  wanted  to  talk  about," 
he  hurried  on.  "  I'd  bet  a  lot  he  knows  more  than 
any  other  man  in  this  town;  and  besides,  he's  a 
fine,  square,  good-hearted  old  gentleman.  Any- 
body can  see  that.  Only,  he's  got  one  terrible 
fault :  he  doesn't  know  how  to  make  money.  And 
that's  mighty  tough  on  you — though  it's  just  as 
tough  on  him.  But  when  you  roast  him  for  it, 
like  you  did  just  now  .  .  .  you  only  make  him 
feel  as  miserable  as  a  yellow  dog  .  .  .  and  that 
doesn't  help  matters  a  little  bit.  He  can't  change 
into  a  sharp  business  crook  now;  .  .  .  he's  too 
old  a  man.  .  .  .  Before  long  he  ...  he 
won't  be  with  you  at  all  and  .  .  .  when  he's 
gone  you'll  be  sore  on  yourself  .  .  .  sure! 
...  if  you  keep  on  throwing  it  into  him  the 
way  I  heard  you.  .  .  .  And  that's  on  the  level." 

He  paused  in  confusion;  the  role  of  preacher 
sat  upon  him  awkwardly,  a  sadly  misfit  garment. 
He  felt  self-conscious  and  ill  at  ease,  yet  with  a 
trace  of  gratulation  through  it  all.  For  he  felt 
he'd  carried  his  point.  He  could  see  no  longer 
any  animus  in  the  pale,  wistful  little  face  that 
looked  up  into  his — only  sympathy,  understand- 
ing, repentance  and  (this  troubled  him  a  bit)  a 
faint  flush  of  dawning  admiration. 


192  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Presently  she  grew  conscious  of  herself  again, 
and  looked  aside,  humbled  and  distressed. 

"  I — I  won't  do  it  again,"  she  faltered,  twisting 
her  hands  together. 

"  Bully  for  you  1  "  he  cried,  and  with  an  abrupt 
if  artificial  resumption  of  his  business-like  air 
turned  away  to  a  show-case — to  spare  her  the 
embarrassment  of  his  regard. 

"I  didn't  think,"  said  the  voice  behind  him; 
"  I  didn't  mean  to — something  happened  that  al- 
most drove  me  wild  and  .  .  ." 

"  I  know,"  he  said  gently. 

After  a  bit  she  spoke  again :  "  I'll  go  up  and 
get  dinner  ready  now." 

"That's  all  right,"  he  returned  absently.  "  I'll 
tend  the  store." 

He  heard  her  footsteps  as  she  crossed  to  the 
door  and  opened  it.  There  followed  a  pause. 
Then  she  came  hurriedly  back.  He  faced  about 
to  meet  her  eyes  shining  with  wonder. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you,"  she  said  hastily,  "  if — 
was  it  this  friend  you  spoke  about — that  found 
you  in  the  park — who  set  you  on  the  road  to  for- 
tune?" 

"  That's  what  he  said,"  Duncan  answered,  twist- 
ing his  brows  whimsically. 


XII 
DUNCAN'S  GRUBSTAKE 

LIKE  almost  all  business  Radville,  Duncan  went 
home  for  his  midday  meal.  It  wasn't  much  of  a 
walk  from  Sam  Graham's  store  to  Miss  Carpen- 
ter's, and  he  didn't  mind  in  the  least. 

On  this  particular  day  he  was  sincerely  hungry, 
but  he  had  much  to  think  about  besides,  and  be- 
tween the  two  he  just  bolted  his  food  and  made 
off,  hot-foot  for  the  store,  greatly  to  the  distress 
of  his  landlady. 

Naturally,  knowing  nothing  about  Sam's  note, 
although  he  knew  Pete  Willing  by  sight  as  the 
sheriff  and  town  drunkard  in  one,  it  didn't  worry 
him  at  all  to  discover  that  gentleman  tacking  to- 
ward the  store  as  he  hurried  up  Beech  Street, 
eager  to  get  back  to  his  job.  The  first  intima- 
tion that  he  had  of  anything  seriously  amiss  was 
when  he  entered,  practically  on  Pete's  heels. 

Pete  Willing  is  the  best-natured  man  in  the 
world,  as  a  general  rule ;  drunk  or  sober,  Radville 
tolerates  him  for  just  that  quality.  On  only  two 
occasions  is  he  irritable  and  unmanageable:  when 
his  wife  gets  after  him  about  the  drink  (Mrs. 
Willing  is  an  able-bodied  lady  of  Irish  descent, 
with  a  will  and  a  tongue  of  her  own,  to  say  noth- 
193 


194  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

ing  of  an  arm  a  blacksmith  might  envy)  and  when 
he  has  a  duty  to  perform  in  his  official  capacity. 
It  is  in  the  latter  instance  that  he  rises  magnifi- 
cently to  the  dignity  of  his  position.  The  majesty 
of  the  law  in  his  hands  becomes  at  once  a  blud- 
geon and  a  pandemonium.  No  one  has  ever  been 
arrested  in  Radville,  since  Pete  became  sheriff, 
without  the  entire  community  becoming  aware  of 
it  simultaneously.  Pete's  voice  in  moments  of 
excitement  carries  like  a  cannonade.  Legrand 
Gunn  said  that  Pete  had  only  to  get  into  an  argu- 
ment in  front  of  the  Bigelow  House  to  make  the 
entire  disorderly  population  of  the  Flats,  across 
the  river,  break  for  the  hills.  '(This  is  probably 
an  exaggeration.) 

Tall,  gaunt,  gangling  and  loose-jointed,  Dun- 
can found  Pete  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
hands  in  pockets  and  a  noisome  stogie  thrust  into 
a  corner  of  his  mouth,  swaying  a  little  (he  was 
almost  sober  at  the  moment)  and  explaining  his 
mission  to  old  Sam  in  a  voice  of  thunder. 

"  I'm  sorry  about  this,  Sam,"  he  bellowed,  "  but 
there  ain't  no  use  wastin'  words  'bout  it.  I'm  here 
on  business." 

"But  what's  the  matter,  Sheriff?"  Graham 
asked,  his  voice  breaking. 

"  Ah,  you  know  you  got  a  note  due  at  the  bank, 
don't  you?" 

"Yes,  but " 


DUNCAN'S    GRUBSTAKE  195 

"  Well,  it's  protested.  Y'un'erstand  that,  don't 
you?" 

"  Why,  Pete !  "     Graham  swayed,  half-dazed. 

"An'  I'm  here  to  serve  the  papers  onto  you." 

"  But — but  there  must  be  some  mistake."  Sam 
clutched  blindly  for  his  hat.  "  I'll  step  over  and 
see  Mr.  Lockwood.  He'll  arrange  to  give  me  a 
little  more  time,  I'm  sure.  He's  always  been  kind, 
very  kind." 

"  Naw!  "  Pete  bawled,  "  Mr.  Lockwood  don't 
want  to  see  you  unless  you  can  settle.  Y'can  save 
yourself  the  trouble.  Y'gottuh  put  up  or  git  out !  " 

"But,  Pete— Mr.  Lockwood  said  he  didn't 
want  to  see  me?" 

"  Yah,  that's  what  he  said,  and  I  got  orders 
from  him,  soon's  I  got  judgment  to  close  y'up. 
'And  that  goes,  see !  " 

"To — to  turn  me  out  of  the  store,  Pete?" 
Graham's  world  had  slipped  from  beneath  his 
feet.  He  was  overwhelmed,  witless,  as  helpless  as 
a  child.  And  it  was  with  a  child's  look  of  pitiful 
dismay  and  perplexity  that  he  faced  the  sheriff. 

The  father  who  has  fallen  short  of  his  child's 
trust  and  confidence  knows  that  look.  To  Dun- 
can its  appeal  was  irresistible.  He  had  his  hand 
in  his  pocket,  clutching  the  still  considerable  re- 
mains of  what  Kellogg  had  termed  his  grubstake, 
before  he  knew  it. 

"  But — there  must  be  some  mistake,"  Graham 


ig6  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

repeated  pleadingly.  "  It  can't  be — Mr.  Lock- 
wood  surely  wouldn't " 

"Now  there  ain't  no  use  whinin'  about  it!'* 
Willing  roared  him  into  silence.  "  Law  is  Law, 

and "  He  ceased  quickly,  surprised  to  find 

Duncan  standing  between  him  and  his  prey. 
"What !"  he  began. 

"  Wait !  "  Duncan  touched  him  gently  on  the 
chest  with  a  forefinger,  at  the  same  time  catching 
and  holding  the  sheriff's  eye.  "  Are  you,"  he  in- 
quired quietly,  "  labouring  under  the  impression 
that  Mr.  Graham  is  deaf?" 

"What !" 

Duncan  turned  to  Sam,  apologetically.  "  He 
said  *  what.'  Did  you  hear  it,  sir?  " 

But  by  this  time  Pete  was  recovering  to  some 
degree.  "  What've  you  got  to  say  about  this?" 
he  demanded,  crescendo. 

"  I'll  show  you,"  Duncan  told  him  in  the  same 
quiet  voice,  "  what  I've  got  to  say  if  you'll  just 
put  the  soft  pedal  on  and  tell  me  the  amount  of 
that  note." 

Pete  struggled  mightily  to  regain  his  vanished 
advantage,  but  try  as  he  would  he  could  not  es- 
cape Duncan's  cool,  inquisitive  eye.  Visibly  he 
lost  importance  as  he  yielded  and  dived  into  his 
pocket.  "  With  interest  and  costs,"  he  said  less 
stridently,  "  it  figgers  up  three  hundred  'n'  eighty 
dollars  'n'  eighty-two  cents." 


DUNCAN'S    GRUBSTAKE  197 

There's  no  use  denying  that  Duncan  was  stag- 
gered. For  the  moment  his  poise  deserted  him 
utterly.  He  could  only  repeat,  as  one  who  dreams : 
"  Three  hundred  and  eighty  dollars!  .  .  ." 

His  momentary  consternation  afforded  Pete  the 
opening  he  needed.  The  room  shook  with  his  re- 
gained sense  of  prestige. 

"  Yes,  three  hundred  'n'  eighty  dollars  'n' — say, 
you  look  a  here! " 

Again  the  calm  forefinger  touched  him,  and 
like  a  hypnotist's  pass  checked  the  rolling  volume 
of  noise.  "Listen,"  begged  Duncan:  "if  you've 
got  anything  else  to  tell  me,  please  retire  to  the 
opposite  side  of  the  street  and  whisper  it.  Mean- 
while, be  quiet!  " 

Pete's  jaw  dropped.  In  all  his  experience  no 
one  had  ever  succeeded  in  taming  him  so  com- 
pletely— and  in  so  brief  a  time.  He  experienced 
a  sensation  of  having  been  robbed  of  his  spinal 
column,  and  before  he  could  pull  himself  together 
was  staring  in  awe,  while  with  one  final  admoni- 
tory poke  of  his  finger  Duncan  turned  and  made 
for  the  soda  counter,  beneath  which  was  the  till. 
His  scanty  roll  of  bills  was  in  his  right  hand,  and 
there  concealed.  He  stepped  behind  the  counter 
(old  Sam  watching  him  ./ith  an  amazement  no 
less  absolute  than  Pete's),  pulled  out  the  till,  bent 
over  it  with  an  assured  air,  and  pushed  back  the 
coin  slide.  Then  quite  naturally,  he  produced — 


i98  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

with  his  right  hand — his  four-hundred-and-odd 
dollars  from  the  bill  drawer,  stood  up  and  counted 
them  with  great  deliberation. 

"One    ...    two    ...    three    .    .    .    four." 

He  smiled  winningly  at  Pete.  "  Four  hundred 
dollars,  Mr.  Sheriff.  Now  will  you  be  good 
enough  to  hand  over  that  note  and  the  change 
and  then  put  yourself,  and  that  pickle  you're 
wearing  in  your  face,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
door?" 

Pete  struggled  tremendously  and  finally  suc- 
ceeded in  producing  from  his  system  a  still,  small 
voice : 

"  I  ain't  got  the  note  with  me,  Mr.  Duncan." 

"  Then  perhaps  you  won't  mind  going  to  the 
bank  for  it?" 

Half  suffocated,  Pete  assented.  "  Aw'right, 
I'll  go  and  git  it.  Kin  I  have  the  money?  " 

"  Certainly."  Duncan  extended  the  bills,  then 
on  second  thought  withheld  them.  "  I  presume 
you're  a  regular  sheriff?"  he  inquired. 

Very  proudly  Pete  turned  back  the  lapel  of  his 
coat  and  distended  the  chest  on  which  shone  his 
nickel-plated  badge  of  office.  Duncan  examined 
it  with  grave  admiration. 

"  It's  beautiful,"  he  said  with  a  sigh.     "  Here." 

Gingerly,  Pete  grasped  the  bills,  thumbed  them 
over  to  make  sure  they  were  real,  and  bolted  as 
for  his  life,  his  coat-tails  level  on  the  breeze. 


Four  hundred  dollars,  Mr.  Sheriff' 


DUNCAN'S    GRUBSTAKE  199 

There  floated  back  to  Duncan  and  old  Sam  his 
valedictory:  "Wai,  I'll  be  dam-ned!" 

With  a  short,  quiet  laugh  Duncan  made  as 
though  to  go  out  to  the  back-yard,  where  the  new 
stock  was  being  delivered,  having  been  carted  up 
from  the  station  through  the  alley — thereby  doing 
away  with  the  necessity  of  cluttering  up  the  store 
with  a  debris  of  packing.  His  primal  instinct  of 
the  moment  was  to  get  right  out  of  that  with  all 
the  expedition  practicable.  He  didn't  want  to  be 
alone  with  old  Sam  another  second.  The  essen- 
tial insanity  of  which  he  had  just  done  was  pat- 
ent; there  was  no  excuse  for  it,  and  he  was  like 
to  suffer  severely  as  a  consequence.  But  he  wasn't 
sorry,  and  he  did  not  want  to  be  thanked. 

"  I'm  going,"  he  said  hurriedly,  "  to  find  me  a 
hatchet  and  knock  the  stuffing  out  of  some  of 
those  packing-cases.  Want  to  get  all  that  truck 
indoors  before  nightfall,  you  know " 

But  old  Sam  wasn't  to  be  put  off  by  any  such 
obvious  subterfuge  as  that.  He  put  himself  in 
front  of  Duncan. 

"  Nat,  my  boy,"  he  said,  tremulous,  "  I  can't 
let  this  go  through- — I  can't  allow  you " 

"There,  now!"  Duncan  told  him,  unconcern- 
edly yet  kindly,  "  don't  say  anything  more.  It's 
over  and  done  with." 

"  But  you  mustn't — I'll  turn  over  the  store  to 
you,  if " 


200  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"O  Lord!"  Duncan's  dismay  was  as  gen- 
uine as  his  desire  to  escape  Graham's  gratitude. 
«  No— don't !  Please  don't  do  that !  " 

"  But  I  must  do  something,  my  boy.  I  can't 
accept  so  great  a  kindness — unless,"  said  Graham 
with  a  timid  flash  of  hope — "you'll  consider  a 
partnership " 

"  That's  it !  "  cried  Duncan,  glad  of  any  way 
out  of  the  situation.  "  That's  the  way  to  do  it — • 
a  partnership.  No,  please  don't  say  any  more 
about  it,  just  now.  We  can  settle  details  later. 
.  .  .  We've  got  to  get  busy.  Tell  you  what  I 
wish  you'd  do  while  I'm  busting  open  those  boxes : 
if  you  don't  mind  going  down  to  the  station  to 
make  sure  that  everything's " 

"  Yes,  I'll  go;  I'll  go  at  once."  Sam  groped  for 
Duncan's  hand,  caught  and  held  it  between  both 
his  own.  "  If — if  fate — or  something  hadn't 
brought  you  here  to-day — I  don't  know  what 
would  Ve  happened  to  Betty  and  me.  .  .  ." 

"  Never  mind,"  Duncan  tried  to  soothe  him. 
"  Just  don't  you  think  about  it." 

Graham  shook  his  head,  still  bewildered. 
"  Perhaps,"  he  stumbled  on,  "  to  a  gentleman  of 
your  wealth  four  hundred  dollars  isn't  much " 

"  No,"  said  Duncan  gravely,  without  the  flicker 
of  an  eyelash :  "  nothing."  Then  he  smiled  cheer- 
fully. "  There,  that's  all  right." 

"  To  me  it's  meant  everything.    I — I  only  hope 


DUNCAN'S    GRUBSTAKE  20! 

I'll  be  able  to  repay  you  some  day.  God  bless 
you,  my  boy,  God  bless  you !  " 

He  managed  to  jam  his  hat  awry  on  his  white 
old  head  and  found  his  way  out,  his  hands  fum- 
bling with  one  another,  his  lips  moving  inaudibly 
— perhaps  in  a  prayer  of  thanksgiving. 

Motionless,  Duncan  watched  him  go,  and  for 
several  minutes  thereafter  stood  without  stirring, 
lost  in  thought.  Then  his  quaint,  deprecatory  grin 
dawned.  He  found  a  handkerchief  and  mopped 
his  forehead. 

"Whew!"  he  whistled.  "I  wouldn't  go 
through  that  again  for  a  million  dollars." 

Gradually  the  smile  faded.  He  puckered  his 
brows  and  drew  down  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 
Thoughtfully  he  ran  a  hand  into  his  pocket  and 
produced  the  little  crumpled  wad  of  bills  of  small 
denominations,  representing  all  he  had  left  in 
the  world.  Smoothing  them  out  on  the  counter, 
he  arranged  them  carefully,  summing  up;  then 
returned  them  to  his  pocket. 

"Harry,"  he  observed — "Harry  said  I 
couldn't  get  rid  of  that  stake  in  a  year!  .  .  . 

"  He  doesn't  know  what  a  fast  town  this  is ! " 


XIII 

THE   BUSINESS   MAN  AND   MR.   BURNHAM 

IT  was,  perhaps,  within  the  next  thirty  minutes 
that  Betty  (who  had  been  left  in  charge  of  the 
store  while  Duncan,  with  coat  and  collar  off  and 
sleeves  rolled  above  his  elbows,  hacked  and 
pounded  and  pried  and  banged  at  the  packing- 
cases  in  the  backyard)  sought  him  on  the  scene 
of  his  labours. 

She  waited  quietly,  a  little  to  one  side,  watching 
him,  until  he  should  become  aware  of  her  pres- 
ence. What  she  was  thinking  would  have  been 
hard  to  define,  from  the  inscrutable  eyes  in  her 
set,  tired  face  of  a  child.  There  was  no  longer 
any  trace  of  envy,  suspicion  or  resentment  in  her 
attitude  toward  the  young  man.  You  might  have 
guessed  that  she  was  trying  to  analyse  him,  weigh- 
ing him  in  the  scales  of  her  impoverished  and  lop- 
sided knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  wondering 
if  such  conclusions  as  she  was  able  to  arrive  at 
were  dependable. 

In  the  course  of  time  he  caught  sight  of  that 
patient,  sad  little  figure,  and,  pausing,  panting  and 
perspiring  under  the  July  sun,  cheerfully  bran- 


THE    BUSINESS    MAN  203 

dished  his  weapon  from  the  centre  of  a  wide- 
spread area  of  wreckage  and  destruction. 

"  Pretty  good  work  for  a  York  dude — not  ?  " 
he  laughed. 

There  was  a  shadowy  smile  in  her  grave  eyes. 
14  It's  an  improvement,"  she  said  evenly. 

He  shot  her  a  curious  glance.  "  OucM "  he 
said  thoughtfully. 

"  I  just  came  to  tell  you,"  she  went  on,  again 
immobile,  "you're  wanted  inside." 

"  Somebody  wants  to  see  me?"  he  demanded 
of  her  retreating  back. 

"  Yes." 

«  But  who ?  " 

"Blinky  Lockwood,"  she  replied  over  her 
shoulder,  as  she  went  into  the  house. 

"Lockwood?"  He  speculated,  for  an  instant 
puzzled.  Then  suddenly :  "  Father-in-law !  "  he 
cried.  "  Shivering  snakes !  he  mustn't  catch  me 
like  this!  I,  a  business  man!  " 

Hastily  rolling  down  his  shirt-sleeves  and 
shrugging  himself  into  his  coat,  he  made  for  the 
store,  buttoning  his  collar  and  knotting  his  tie 
on  the  way. 

He  found  Blinky  nosing  round  the  room,  quite 
alone.  Betty  had  disappeared,  and  the  old  scoun- 
drel was  having  quite  an  enjoyable  time  poking 
into  matters  that  did  not  concern  him  and  disap- 
proving of  them  on  general  principles.  So  far  as 


204  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

the  improvements  concerned  old  Sam  Graham's 
fortunes,  Blinky  would  concede  no  health  in  them. 
But  with  regard  to  Duncan  there  was  another 
story  to  tell :  Duncan  apparently  controlled  money, 
to  some  vague  extent. 

"You're  Mr.  Duncan,  ain't  you?"  he  asked 
with  his  leer,  moving  down  to  meet  Nat. 

"Yes,  sir.     Mr.  Lockwood,  I  believe?" 

"That's  me."  Blinky  clutched  his  hand  in  a 
genial  claw.  "  I'm  glad  to  meet  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Duncan.  "  Something  I 
can  do  for  you,  sir?" 

"Wai,  Pete  Willin'  was  tellin'  me  you'd  just 
took  up  this  note  of  Graham's?  " 

"  Not  exactly;  the  firm  took  it  up." 

Blinky  winked  savagely  at  this.  "The  firm? 
What  firm?" 

"  Graham  and  Duncan,  sir.  I've  been  taken 
into  partnership." 

"  Have,  eh?  "  Blinky  grunted  mysteriously  and 
fished  in  his  pocket  for  some  bills  and  silver. 
"  Wai,  here's  some  change  comin'  to  the  firm, 
then;  and  here,"  he  added,  producing  the  docu- 
ment in  question,  "  is  Sam's  note." 

"Thank  you."  Duncan  ceremoniously  depos- 
ited both  in  the  till,  going  behind  the  soda  foun- 
tain to  do  so,  and  then  waited,  expectant.  Blinky 
was  grunting  busily  in  the  key  of  one  about  to 
make  an  important  communication. 


THE   BUSINESS    MAN  205 

"  I'm  glad  you're  a-comin'  in  here  with  Sam," 
he  said  at  length,  with  an  acid  grimace  that  was 
meant  to  be  a  smile. 

"  Oh,  it  may  be  only  temporary."  Nat  endeav- 
oured to  assume  a  seraphic  expression,  and  par- 
tially succeeded.  "  I'm  devoting  much  of  my 
time  to  my  studies,"  he  pursued  primly;  "but 
nevertheless  feel  I  should  be  earning  something, 
too." 

"  That's  right;  that's  the  kind  of  spirit  I  like  to 
see  in  a  young  man.  .  .  .  You  always  go  to 
church,  don't  you?" 

"  No,  sir — Sundays  only." 

"  That's  what  I  mean.     D'you  drink?  " 

"Oh,  no,  sir,"  Duncan  parroted  glibly:  "don't 
smoke,  drink,  swear,  and  on  Sundays  I  go  to 
church." 

The  bland  smile  with  which  he  faced  Lock- 
wood's  keen  scrutiny  disarmed  suspicion. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  that,"  Blinky  told  him. 
"  I'm  at  the  head  of  the  temp'rance  movement 
here,  and  I  hope  you'll  join  us,  and  set  an  example 
to  our  fast  young  men." 

"  I  feel  sure  I  could  do  that,"  said  Duncan 
meekly. 

Lockwood  removed  his  hat,  exposing  the  cra- 
nium of  a  bald-headed  eagle,  and  fanned  himself. 
"  Warm  to-day,"  he  observed  in  an  endeavour  to 
be  genial  that  all  but  sprained  his  temperament. 


206  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

Indeed,  so  great  was  the  strain  that  he  winked 
violently. 

Duncan  observed  this  phenomenon  with  natural 
astonishment  not  unmixed  with  awe.  "  Yes,  sir, 
very,"  he  agreed,  wondering  what  it  might  por- 
tend. 

"  I  believe  I'll  have  a  glass  of  sody." 

"  Certainly."  Duncan,  by  now  habituated  to 
the  formulae  of  soda  dispensing,  promptly  pro- 
duced a  bright  and  shining  glass. 

"  I  see  you've  been  fixin'  this  place  up  some." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Nat  loftily.  "We  expect  to 
have  the  best  drugstore  in  the  State.  We're  get- 
ting in  new  stock  to-day,  and  naturally  things  are 
a  little  out  of  order,  but  we'll  straighten  up  with- 
out delay.  We'll  try  to  deserve  your  esteemed 
patronage,"  he  concluded  doubtfully,  with  a  hazy 
impression  that  such  a  speech  would  be  considered 
appropriate  under  the  circumstances. 

"  You  shall  have  it,  Mr.  Duncan,  you  shall 
have  it!" 

"  Thank  you,  I'm  sure.  .  .  .  What  syrup 
would  you  prefer?  " 

"  Just  sody,"  stipulated  Lockwood. 

His  spasmodic  wink  again  smote  Duncan's  un- 
derstanding a  mighty  blow.  Unable  to  believe  his 
eyes,  he  hedged  and  stammered.  Could  it  be — ? 
This  from  the  leader  of  the  temperance  move- 
ment in  Radville? 


THE   BUSINESS    MAN  207 

11 1  beg  pardon ?" 

His  denseness  irritated  Blinky  slightly,  with  the 
result  that  the  right  side  of  his  face  again  under- 
went an  alarming  convulsion.  "  I  say,"  he  ex- 
plained carefully,  "  just — plain — sody." 

"On  the  level?" 

"What?"  grunted  Blinky;  and  blinked  again. 

A  smile  of  comprehension  irradiated  Nat's  fea- 
tures. "  Pardon,'*  he  said,  "  I'm  a  little  new  to 
the  business." 

Blinky,  fanning  himself  industriously,  glared 
round  the  store  while  Duncan,  turning  his  back, 
discreetly  found  and  uncorked  the  whiskey  bottle. 
He  was  still  a  trifle  dubious  about  the  transaction, 
but  on  the  sound  principles  of  doing  all  things 
thoroughly,  poured  out  a  liberal  dose  of  raw,  red 
liquor.  Then,  with  his  fingers  clamped  tightly 
about  the  bottom  of  the  glass,  the  better  to  con- 
ceal its  contents  from  any  casual  but  inquisitive 
passer-by,  he  quickly  filled  it  with  soda  and  placed 
it  before  Blinky,  accompanying  the  action  with  the 
sweetest  of  childlike  smiles. 

Lockwood,  nodding  his  acknowledgments,  lifted 
the  glass  to  his  lips.  Duncan  awaited  develop- 
ments with  some  apprehension.  To  his  relief, 
however,  Blinky,  after  an  experimental  swallow, 
emptied  the  mixture  expeditiously  into  his  system; 
and  smacked  his  thin  lips  resoundingly. 

"  How,"  he  demanded,  "  can  anyone  want  in- 


208  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

toxicatin'  likers  when  they  can  get  such  a  bracin' 
drink  as  that?" 

"  I  pass,"  Nat  breathed,  limp  with  admiration 
of  such  astounding  hypocrisy. 

Blinky  reluctantly  pried  a  nickel  loose  from  his 
finances  and  placed  it  on  the  counter.  Duncan 
regarded  it  with  disdain. 

"  Ten  cents  more,  please,"  he  suggested  tact- 
fully. 

"What  for?" 

"  Plain  sody."  The  explanation  was  accom- 
panied by  a  very  passable  imitation  of  Blinky's 
blink. 

Happily  for  Duncan,  Blinky  has  no  sense  of 
humour:  if  he  had  he  would  explode  the  very  first 
time  he  indulged  in  introspection. 

"  Not  much,"  said  he  with  his  sour  smile.  "  I 
guess  you're  jokin*.  .  .  .  Well,  good  luck  to 
you,  Mr.  Duncan.  I'd  like  to  have  you  come 
round  and  see  us  some  evenin'." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  sir."  Duncan  accom- 
panied Blinky  to  the  door.  "  I've  already  had 
the  pleasure  of  meeting  your  daughter,  sir.  She's 
a  charming  girl." 

"  I'm  real  glad  you  think  so,"  said  Blinky,  in- 
tensely gratified.  "  She  seems  to've  taken  a  great 
shine  to  you,  too.  Come  round  and  get  'quainted 
with  the  hull  family.  You're  the  sort  of  young 
feller  I'd  like  her  to  know."  He  paused  and 


THE   BUSINESS    MAN  209 

looked  Nat  up  and  down  captiously,  as  one  might 
appraise  the  points  of  a  horse  of  quality  put  up 
for  sale.  "  Good-day,"  said  he,  with  the  most 
significant  of  winks. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  Nat  hastened  to  reas- 
sure him.  "  I  won't  say  a  word  about  it." 

Blinky,  on  the  point  of  leaving,  started  to  ques- 
tion this  (to  him)  cryptic  utterance,  but  luckily 
had  the  current  of  his  thoughts  diverted  by  the  en* 
trance  of  Roland  Barnette,  in  company  with  his 
friend  Mr.  Burnham. 

Roland's  consternation  at  this  unexpected  en- 
counter was,  in  the  mildest  term,  extreme.  At 
sight  of  his  employer  he  pulled  up  as  if  slapped. 
"  Oh !  "  he  faltered,  "  I  didn't  know  you  was 
here,  sir." 

"  No,"  said  Blinky  with  keen  relish,  "  I  guess 
you  didn't." 

"  I — ah — come  over  to  see  Sam  about  that 
note,"  stammered  Roland. 

"  Wai,  don't  you  bother  your  head  'bout  what 
ain't  your  business,  Roly.  Come  on  back  to  the 
bank." 

"All  right,  sir."  Roland  grasped  frantically 
at  the  opportunity  to  emphasise  his  importance. 
"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Lockwood,  but  I'd  like  to  inter- 
doos  you  to  a  friend  of  mine,  Mr.  Burnham  from 
Noo  York." 

Amused,    Burnham    stepped   into    the   breach. 


2io  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

11  How  are  you?  "  he  said  with  the  proper  nuance 
of  cordiality,  offering  his  hand. 

Lockwood  shook  it  unemotionally.  "  How  de 
do  ?  "  he  said,  perfunctory. 

"  I  brought  Mr.  Burnham  in  to  see  Sam " 

"Yes,"  Burnham  interrupted  Roland  quickly; 
"  Barnette's  been  kind  enough  to  show  me  round 
town  a  bit." 

"  Here  on  business?  "  inquired  Lockwood  point- 
edly. 

"  No,  not  exactly,"  returned  Burnham  with 
practised  ease,  "  just  looking  round." 

"Only  lookin',  eh?"  Blinky's  countenance 
underwent  one  of  its  erratic  quakes  as  he  exam- 
ined Burnham  with  his  habitual  intentness. 

The  New  Yorker  caught  the  wink  and  lost 
breath.  "Ah— -yes — that's  all,"  he  assented  un- 
easily. And  as  he  spoke  another  wink  dumb- 
founded him.  "Why?"  he  asked,  with  a  dis- 
tinct loss  of  assurance.  "  Don't  you  believe 
it." 

"  Don't  see  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't,"  grunted 
Blinky.  "  Hope  you'll  like  what  you  see.  Good- 
day." 

"  So  long  .  .  .  Mr.  Lockwood,"  returned 
Burnham  uncertainly. 

Lockwood  paused  outside  the  door.  "  Come 
'long,  Roland." 

"  Yes,  sir;  right  away;  just  a  minute."    Roland 


THE   BUSINESS    MAN  211 

was  lingering  unwillingly,  detained  by  Burnham's 
imperative  hand.  "  What  d'you  want?  I  got  to 
hurry." 

"  What  was  he  winking  at  me  for?  "  demanded 
Burnham  heatedly.  "  Have  you ?  " 

"  Oh !  "  Roland  laughed.  "  He  wasn't  wink- 
ing. He  can't  help  doing  that.  It's  a  twitchin' 
he's  got  in  his  eye.  That's  why  they  call  him 
Blinky." 

"  Oh,  that  was  it!  "  Burnham  accepted  the  ex- 
planation with  distinct  relief,  while  Duncan,  who 
had  been  an  unregarded  spectator,  suddenly  found 
cause  to  retire  behind  one  of  the  show-cases  on 
important  business. 

So  that  was  the  explanation !    .    .    . 

After  his  paroxysm  had  subsided  and  he  felt 
able  to  control  his  facial  muscles,  Duncan 
emerged,  suave  and  solemn.  Roland  had  disap- 
peared with  Blinky,  and  Burnham  was  alone. 

"Anything  you  wish,  sir?"  asked  Nat. 

"  Only  to  see  Mr.  Graham." 

"  He's  out  just  at  present,  but  I  think  he'll  be 
back  in  a  moment  or  so.  Will  you  wait?  You'll 
find  that  chair  comfortable,  I  think." 

"  Believe  I  will,"  said  Burnham  with  an  air. 
He  seated  himself.  "  I  can't  wait  long,  though," 
he  amended. 

"  Yes,  sir.    And  if  you'll  excuse  me ?  " 

Burnham's  hand  dismissed  him  with  a  tolerant 


212  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

wave.  "  Go  right  on  about  your  business,"  he 
said  with  supreme  condescension. 

And  Duncan  returned  to  his  work  in  the  back- 
yard. 

It  wasn't  long  before  he  found  occasion  to  go 
back  to  the  store,  and  by  that  time  old  Sam  was 
there  in  conversation  with  Burnham.  Neither  no- 
ticed Nat  as  he  entered,  and  to  begin  with  he  paid 
them  little  heed,  being  occupied  with  his  task  of 
depositing  an  armful  of  bottles  without  mishap 
and  then  placing  them  on  the  shelves.  The  hum 
of  their  voices  from  the  other  side  of  the  counter 
struck  an  indifferent  ear  while  he  busied  himself, 
but  presently  a  word  or  phrase  caught  his  interest, 
and  he  found  himself  listening,  at  first  casually, 
then  with  waxing  attention. 

"  That's  part  of  my  business,"  he  heard  Burn- 
ham  say  in  his  sleek,  oleaginous  accents.  "  Some- 
times I  pick  up  an  odd  no-'count  contraption  that 
makes  me  a  bit  of  money,  and  more  times  I'm 
stung  and  lose  on  it.  It's  all  a  gamble,  of  course, 
and  I'm  that  way — like  to  take  a  gambling  chance 
on  anything  that  strikes  my  fancy — like  that 
burner  of  yours." 

"Yes,"  Graham  returned:  "the  gas  arrange- 
ment." 

"It's  a  curious  idea — quite  different  from  the 
one  I  told  you  about;  but  I  kinda  took  to  it. 
There  might  be  something  to  it,  and  again  there 


THE   BUSINESS    MAN  213 

mightn't.  I've  been  thinking  I  might  be  willing 
to  risk  a  few  dollars  on  it,  if  we  could  come  to 
terms." 

"Do  you  mean  it,  really?"  said  old  Sam 
eagerly. 

"  Not  to  invest  in  it,  so  to  speak;  I  don't  think 
it's  chances  are  strong  enough  for  that.  But  if 
you'd  care  to  sell  the  patent  outright  and  aren't 
too  ambitious,  we  might  make  a  dicker.  What 
d'you  say?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Graham,  quivering  with  an- 
ticipation. "  Yes,  indeed,  if " 

"Well?" 

"  If  you  really  think  it's  worth  anything,  sir." 

"Well,  as  I  say,  there's  no  telling;  but  I  was 
thinking  about  it  at  dinner,  and  I  sort  of  con- 
cluded I'd  like  to  own  that  burner,  so  I  made  out 
a  little  bill  of  sale,  and  I  says  to  myself,  says  I: 
*  If  Graham  will  take  five  hundred  dollars  for 
that  patent,  I'll  give  him  spot  cash,  right  in  his 
hand,'  says  I." 

With  this  Burnham  tipped  back  in  his  chair 
and  brought  forth  a  wallet  from  which  he  drew  a 
sheet  of  paper  and  several  bills. 

"Five  hundred  dollars!"  repeated  Graham, 
thunderstruck  by  this  munificence. 

"  Yes,  sir :  five  hundred,  cash !  To  tell  you  the 
truth — guess  you  don't  know  it — I  heard  at  the 
bank  that  they  didn't  intend  to  extend  the  time 


2I4  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

on  that  note  of  yours,  and  I  thought  this  five  hun- 
dred would  come  in  handy,  and  kind  of  wanted  to 
help  you  out.  Now  what  do  you  say?  " 

He  flourished  the  bills  under  Graham's  nose 
and  waited,  entirely  at  ease  as  to  his  answer. 

"  Well,"  said  the  old  man,  "  it  is  kind  of  you, 
sir — very  kind.  Everybody's  been  good  to  me  re- 
cently— or  else  I'm  dreamin'." 

"Then  it's  a  bargain?" 

"  Why,  I  hope  it  won't  lose  any  money  for  you, 
Mr.  Burnham,"  Sam  hesitated,  with  his  inerad- 
icable sense  of  fairness  and  square-dealing. 
"  Making  gas  from  crude  oil  ought  to " 

Duncan  never  heard  the  end  of  that  speech. 
For  some  moments  he  had  been  listening  intently, 
trying  to  recollect  something.  The  name  of  Burn- 
ham  plucked  a  string  on  the  instrument  of  his 
memory;  he  knew  he  had  heard  it,  some  place, 
some  time  in  the  past;  but  how,  or  when,  or  in 
respect  to  what  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind. 
It  had  required  Sam's  reference  to  gas  and  crude 
oil  to  close  the  circuit.  Then  he  remembered: 
Kellogg  had  mentioned  a  man  by  the  name  of 
Burnham  who  was  "  on  the  track  of  "  an  impor- 
tant invention  for  making  gas  from  crude  oil. 
This  must  be  the  man,  Burnham,  the  tracker ;  and 
poor  old  Graham  must  be  the  tracked.  .  .  . 

Without  warning  Duncan  ran  round  and  made 
himself  an  uninvited  third  to  the  conference. 


THE    BUSINESS    MAN  215 

"  Mr.  Graham,  one  moment !  "  he  begged,  ex- 
cited. "  Is  this  patent  of  yours  on  a  process  of 
making  gas  from  crude  oil?  " 

Burnham  looked  up  impatiently,  frowning  at 
the  interruption,  but  Graham  was  all  good  hu- 
mour. 

"Why,  yes,"  he  started  to  explain;  "it's  that 
burner  over  there  that " 

"  But  I  wouldn't  sell  it  just  yet  if  I  were  you," 
said  Nat.  "  It  may  be  worth  a  good  deal " 

"  Now  look  here !  "  Burnham  got  to  his  feet 
in  anger.  "  What  business  Ve  you  got  butting 
into  this?  "  he  demanded,  putting  himself  between 
Duncan  and  the  inventor. 

"Me?"  Duncan  queried  simply.  "Only  just 
because  I'm  a  business  man.  If  you  don't  believe 
it,  ask  Mr.  Graham." 

"  He's  got  a  perfect  right  to  advise  me,  Mr. 
Burnham,"  interposed  Graham,  rising. 

"  Well,  but — but  what  objection  Ve  you  got  to 
his  making  a  little  money  out  of  this  patent?" 
Burnham  blustered. 

"  None ;  only  I  want  to  look  into  the  matter 
first.  I  think  it  might  be — ah — advisable." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  "  demanded  Burn- 
ham,'  his  tone  withering. 

"  Well,"  said  Nat,  with  an  effort  summoning 
his  faculties  to  cope  with  a  matter  of  strict  busi- 
ness, "it's  this  way:  I've  got  an  idea''  he  said, 


2i6  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

poking  at  Burnham  with  the  forefinger  which  had 
proven  so  effective  with  Pete  Willing,  "  that  you 
wouldn't  offer  five  hundred  iron  men  for  this 
burner  unless  you  expected  to  make  something  big 
out  of  it,  and  ...  it  ought  to  be  worth  just 
as  much  to  Mr.  Graham  as  to  you." 

"Ah,  you  don't  know  what  you're  talking 
about." 

"  I  know  that,"  Nat  admitted  simply,  "  but  I 
do  happen  to  know  you're  promoting  a  scheme 
for  making  gas  from  crude  oil,  and  if  Mr.  Gra- 
ham will  listen  to  me  you  won't  get  his  patent 
until  I've  consulted  my  friend,  Henry  Kellogg." 

"Kellogg!" 

"  Yes.  You  know— of  L.  J.  Bartlett  &  Com- 
pany." Nat's  forefinger  continued  to  do  deadly 
work.  Burnham  backed  away  from  it  as  from  a 
fiery  brand. 

"  Oh,  well  I  "  he  said,  dashed,  "  if  you're  rep- 
resenting Kellogg  " — and  Nat  took  care  not  to 
refute  the  implication — "  I — I  don't  want  to  in- 
terfere. Only,"  he  pursued  at  random,  in  his 
discomfiture,  "  I  can't  see  why  he  sent  you  here." 

"  I'd  be  ashamed  to  tell  you,"  Nat  returned 
with  an  open  smile.  "  Better  ask  him." 

Burnham  gathered  his  wits  together  for  a  final 
threat.  "  That's  what  I  will  do!  "  he  threatened. 
"  And  I'll  do  it  the  minute  I  can  see  him.  You 
can  bet  on  that,  Mister  What's-Your-Name !  " 


THE   BUSINESS    MAN  217 

"  No,  I  can't,"  said  Nat  naively.  "  I'm  not  al- 
lowed to  gamble." 

His  ingenuous  expression  exasperated  Burn- 
ham.  The  man  lost  control  of  his  temper  at  the 
same  moment  that  he  acknowledged  to  himself 
his  defeat.  In  disgust  he  turned  away. 

"  Oh,  there's  no  use  talking  to  you " 

"  That's  right,"  Nat  agreed  fairly. 

"  But  I'll  see  you  again,  Mr.  Graham " 

"  Not  alone,  if  I  can  help  it,  Mr.  Burnham," 
Duncan  amended  sweetly. 

"  But,"  Burnham  continued,  severely  ignoring 
Nat  and  addressing  himself  squarely  to  Graham, 
"  you  take  my  tip  and  don't  do  any  business  with 
this  fellow  until  you  find  out  who  he  is."  He 
flung  himself  out  of  the  shop  with  a  barked: 
"Good-day!" 

"  Well,  Mr.  Graham?  "  Duncan  turned  a  little 
apprehensively  to  the  inventor.  But  Sam's  ex- 
pression was  almost  one  of  beatific  content.  His 
weak  old  lips  were  pursed,  his  eyes  half-closed,  his 
finger  tips  joined,  and  he  was  rocking  back  and 
forth  on  his  heels. 

"  Margaret  used  to  talk  that  way,  sometimes," 
he  remarked.  "  She  was  the  best  woman  in  the 
world — and  the  wisest.  She  used  to  take  care  of 
me  and  protect  me  from  my  foolish  impulses,  just 
as  you  do,  my  boy.  .  .  ." 

For  a  space  Duncan  kept  silent,  respecting  the 


218  THE   FORTUNE   HUNTER 

old  man's  memories,  and  a  great  deal  humbled  in 
spirit  by  the  parallel  Sam  had  drawn.  Then :  "  I 
was  afraid  what  I  said  would  sound  queer  to  you, 
sir,"  he  ventured — "  that  you  mightn't  understand 
that  I'm  not  here  to  do  you  out  of  your  inven- 
tion .  .  ." 

"There's  nothing  on  earth,  my  boy" — Gra- 
ham's hand  fell  on  Nat's  arm — "  could  make  me 
think  that.  But  five  hundred  dollars,  you  see, 
would  have  repaid  you  for  taking  up  that  note, 
and — and  I  could  have  bought  Betty  a  new  dress 
for  the  party.  But  I'm  sure  you've  done  what's 
best.  iYou're  a  business  man " 

"Don't!"  Nat  pleaded  wildly.  "I've  been 
called  that  so  much  of  late  that  it's  beginning  to 
hurt!" 


XIV 

MOSTLY  ABOUT   BETTY 

SAM  GRAHAM  said  to  me,  that  night:  "  I  don't 
know  when  so  many  things  have  happened  to  me 
in  so  short  a  time.  It  don't  seem  hardly  possible 
it's  only  four  days  since  that  boy  came  in  here 
asking  for  a  job.  It's  wonderful,  simply  wonder- 
ful, the  change  he's  made." 

He  waved  a  comprehensive  hand,  and  I,  glanc- 
ing round  the  transformed  store,  agreed  with  him. 
Everything  was  spick  and  span  and  mighty  at- 
tractive— clean  and  neat-looking — with  the  new 
stock  in  the  shining  cases  and  arranged  on  the 
glistening  white  shelves:  not  all  of  it  set  out  by 
any  means,  of  course,  but  no  unplaced  goods  in 
sight,  cluttering  up  the  counters  or  kicking  round 
the  floor. 

"  The  way  he's  worked !  You'd  hardly  be- 
lieve it,  Homer.  He  said  he  wanted  to  get  home 
early  so's  to  write  a  letter  to  a  friend  of  his  in 
New  York,  a  Mr.  Kellogg,  junior  member  of  L. 
J.  Bartlett  &  Company,  about  my  invention.  But 
he  insisted  on  leaving  everything  to  rights  for 
business  to-morrow.  And  just  look!  " 

"  But  I  thought  Roland  Barnette ?  "  I  sug- 

219 


220  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

gested  with  guile.  Of  course  I'd  heard  a  rumour 
of  what  had  happened — 'most  everyone  in  town 
had — and  how  Roland  and  his  friend,  Mr.  Burn- 
ham,  had  sort  of  fallen  out  on  the  way  from  the 
Bigelow  House  to  the  train ;  but  no  one  knew  any- 
thing definite,  and  I  wanted  to  get  "  the  rights  of 
it,"  as  Radville  says. 

So  I  had  dropped  in  at  Graham's,  on  my  way 
home  from  the  office,  as  I  often  do,  for  an  even- 
ing smoke  and  a  bit  of  gossip :  something  I  rarely 
indulge  in,  but  which  I've  found  has  a  curious  psy- 
chological effect  on  the  circulation  of  the  Citizen 
— like  a  tonic.  Sam  was  just  at  the  point  of  clos- 
ing up.  He  was  alone,  Duncan  having  gone  home 
about  an  hour  earlier,  and  Betty  being  upstairs, 
while  (since  it  was  quite  half-past  nine)  all  the 
rest  of  Radville,  with  few  exceptions  (chiefly  to 
be  noted  at  Schwartz's  and  round  the  Bigelow 
House  bar)  was  making  its  final  rounds  of  the 
day:  locking  the  front  door,  putting  out  the  lamp 
in  its  living-room,  banking  the  fire  in  the  range, 
ejecting  the  cat  from  the  kitchen  and  wiping  out 
the  sink,  and  finally,  odoriferous  kerosene  lamp 
in  hand,  climbing  slowly  to  the  stuffy  upstairs  bed- 
chamber. Indeed,  the  lights  of  Radville  begin 
to  go  out  about  half-past  eight;  by  ten,  as  a  rule, 
the  town  is  as  lively  as  a  cemetery. 

But  I  am  by  nature  inexorable  and  merciless,  a 
masterful  man  with  such  as  old  Sam;  and  it  was 


MOSTLY   ABOUT   BETTY  221 

an  hour  later  before  I  left  him,  drained  of  the  last 
detail  of  the  day.  He  was  a  weary  man,  but  a 
happy  one,  when  he  bade  me  good-night,  and  I 
myself  felt  a  little  warmed  by  his  cheerfulness  as  I 
plodded  up  Main  Street  through  the  thick  oppres- 
sion of  darkness  beneath  the  elms. 

After  a  time  I  became  aware  that  someone  was 
overtaking  me,  and  waited,  thinking  at  first  it 
would  be  one  of  my  people.  But  it  wasn't  long 
before  I  recognised  from  the  quick  tempo  of  the 
approaching  footfalls  that  this  was  no  Radvillian. 
There  was  just  light  enough — starlight  striking 
down  through  the  thinner  spaces  in  the  interlacing 
foliage — to  make  visible  a  moving  shadow,  and 
when  it  drew  nearer  I  saluted  it  with  confidence. 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Duncan." 

He  stopped  short,  peering  through  the  gloom. 
"Good-evening,  but — Mr.  Littlejohn?  Glad  to 
see  you."  He  joined  me  and  we  proceeded  home- 
ward, he  moderating  his  stride  a  trifle  in  defer- 
ence to  my  age.  "  Aren't  you  late?  " 

"  A  bit,"  I  admitted.  "  I've  been  gossiping 
with  Sam  Graham." 

"Oh     .     .     .?" 

"  You're  out  late  yourself,  Mr.  Duncan,  for  one 
of  such  regular,  not  to  say  abnormal,  habits." 

He  laughed  lightly.  "  Had  a  letter  I  wanted 
to  catch  the  first  morning  train." 

"Then  you're  interested  in  Sam's  burner?" 


222  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"  No,  I'm  not,  but  I  hope  to  interest  others. 
.  .  .  Oh,  yes:  Mr.  Graham  told  you  about  it, 
of  course.  ...  It  just  struck  me  that  if  a  man 
of  Burnham's  stamp  was  willing  to  risk  five  hun- 
dred dollars  on  the  proposition,  he  very  likely 
foresaw  a  profit  in  it  that  might  as  well  be  Mr. 
Graham's.  So  I've  sent  a  detailed  description  of 
the  thing  to  a  friend  in  New  York,  who'll  look 
into  it  for  me." 

He  was  silent  for  a  little. 

"Who's  Colonel  Bohun?"  he  asked  suddenly. 

"Why  do  you  ask?" 

"  I  saw  him  this  evening.  He  was  passing  the 
store  and  stopped  to  glare  in  as  if  he  hated  it — 
stopped  so  long  that  I  got  nervous  and  asked  Miss 
Lockwood  (she'd  just  happened  in  for  a  parting 
glass — of  soda)  whether  he  was  an  anarchist  or  a 
retired  burglar.  She  told  me  his  name,  but  was 
otherwise  inhumanly  reticent." 

"For  Josie?"  I  chuckled;  but  he  didn't  re- 
spond. So  I  took  up  the  tale  of  the  first  family 
of  Radville. 

"The  story  runs,"  said  I,  "that  the  Bohuns 
were  one  of  the  F.  F.  V.'s;  that  they  sickened  of 
slavery,  freed  their  slaves  and  moved  North,  to 
settle  in  Radville.  I  believe  they  came  from  some- 
where round  Lynchburg;  but  that  was  a  couple  of 
generations  ago.  When  the  Civil  War  broke  out 
the  old  Colonel  up  there  " — I  gestured  vaguely 


MOSTLY   ABOUT   BETTY  223 

In  the  general  direction  of  the  Bohun  mansion — 
"  couldn't  keep  out  of  it,  and  naturally  he  couldn't 
fight  with  the  North.  He  won  his  spurs  under 
Lee.  .  .  .  After  the  war  had  blown  over  he 
came  home,  to  find  that  his  only  son  had  enlisted 
with  the  Radville  company  and  disappeared  at 
Gettysburg.  It  pretty  nearly  killed  the  old  man 
— though  he  wasn't  so  old  then ;  but  there's  fire  in 
the  Bohun  blood,  and  his  boy's  action  seemed  to 
him  nothing  less  than  treason." 

"  And  that's  what  soured  him  on  the  world?  " 
"  Not  altogether.  He  had  a  daughter — Mar- 
garet. She  was  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the 
world  ..."  I  suspect  my  voice  broke  a 
little  just  there,  for  there  was  a  shade  of  respect- 
ful sympathy  in  the  monosyllable  with  which  he 
filled  the  pause.  "  He  swore  she  should  never 
marry  a  Northerner,  but  she  did;  I  guess,  being  a 
Bohun,  she  had  to,  after  hearing  she  must  not. 
There  were  two  of  us  that  loved  her,  but  she 
chose  Sam  Graham  .  .  ." 

"  Why,"  he  said  awkwardly—"  I'm  sorry." 
"  I'm  not :  she  was  right,  if  I  couldn't  see  it 
that  way.  They  ran  away — and  so  did  I.  I  went 
East,  but  they  came  back  to  Radville.  Colonel 
Bohun  never  forgave  them,  but  they  were  very 
happy  till  she  died.  Betty's  their  daughter,  of 
course :  Sam's  not  the  kind  that  marries  more  than 
once." 


224  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Duncan  thought  this  over  without  comment 
until  we  reached  our  gate.  There  he  paused  for 
a  moment. 

"  He's  got  plenty  of  money,  I  presume — old 
Bohun?" 

"  So  they  say.  Probably  not  much  now,  but  a 
great  deal  more  than  he  needs." 

"  Then  why  doesn't  somebody  get  after  the  old 
scoundrel  and  make  him  do  something  for  that 
poor — for  Miss  Graham?"  he  asked  indignantly. 

"  He  tried  it  once,  but  they  wouldn't  listen.  His 
conditions  were  impossible,"  I  explained.  "  She 
was  to  renounce  her  father  and  take  the  name  of 
Bohun •" 

"What  rot!"  Duncan  growled.  "What  an 
old  fiend  he  must  be!  Of  course  he  knew  she'd 
refuse." 

"  I  suspect  he  did." 

Duncan  hesitated  a  bit  longer.  "  Anyhow,"  he 
said  suddenly,  "  somebody  ought  to  get  after  him 
and  make  him  see  the  thing  the  right  way." 

"  S'pose  you  try  it,  Mr.  Duncan  ?  "  I  suggested 
maliciously,  as  we  went  up  the  walk. 

He  stopped  at  the  door.  "  Perhaps  I  shall," 
he  said  slowly. 

"  I'd  advise  you  not  to.  The  last  man  that 
tried  it  has  no  desire  to  repeat  the  experiment." 

"Who  was  he?" 

"  An  old  fool  named  Homer  Littlejohn." 


MOSTLY   ABOUT   BETTY  225 

Duncan  put  out  his  hand.  "  Shake !  "  he  in- 
sisted. "  We'll  talk  this  over  another  time." 

We  went  in  very  quietly,  lit  our  candles,  and 
with  elaborate  care  avoided  the  home-made 
burglar-alarm  (a  complicated  arrangement  of 
strings  and  tinpans  on  the  staircase,  which  Miss 
Carpenter  insists  on  maintaining  ever  since  Ro- 
land Barnette  missed  a  dollar  bill  and  insisted  his 
pocket  had  been  picked  on  Main  Street)  and  so 
mounted  to  our  rooms.  As  we  were  entering  (our 
doors  adjoin)  a  thought  delayed  my  good-night. 

"  By  the  way,  did  you  get  your  invitation  to 
Josie  Lockwood's  party,  Mr.  Duncan?  I  hap- 
pened to  see  it  on  the  hall  table  this  evening." 

"  Yes,"  he  assented  quietly. 

"  It's  to  be  the  social  event  of  the  year.  I  hope 
you'll  enjoy  it." 

"  I'm  not  going." 

"Not  going!    .    .    .    Why  not?" 

"  It's  against  the  rules  at  first — I  mean,  busi- 
ness rules.  I'll  be  so  busy  at  the  store,  you  know." 

"  Josie'll  be  disappointed." 

"Thank  you,"  said  he  gratefully.  "Good- 
night." 

Alone,  I  was  fain  to  confess  he  baffled  my  un- 
derstanding. 

The  rush  of  business  to  Graham's  began  the 
following  morning:  Duncan's  hands  were  full  al- 
most from  the  first,  and  he  had  to  relegate  such 


226  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

matters  as  making  final  disposition  of  his  stock 
and  getting  acquainted  with  it  to  the  intervals  be- 
tween waiting  upon  customers.  Old  Sam  must 
have  put  up  more  prescriptions  in  the  next  few 
days  than  he  had  within  the  last  five  years.  Every- 
body wanted  to  take  a  look  at  the  renovated  store, 
shake  Sam's  hand,  and  see  what  the  new  partner 
was  really  like.  Sothern  and  Lee's  was  for  some 
days  quite  deserted,  especially  after  Duncan  took 
a  leaf  out  of  their  book,  bought  an  ice-cream 
freezer  and  began  to  serve  dabs  of  cream  in  the 
sody.  I've  always  maintained  that  our  Radville 
folks  are  pretty  thoroughly  sot  in  their  ways  (the 
phrase  is  local),  but  the  way  they  flocked  to  Gra- 
ham's forced  me  to  amend  the  aphorism  with  the 
clause:  "except  when  their  curiosity  is  aroused." 
Every  woman  in  town  wanted  to  know  what  Gra- 
ham and  Duncan  carried  that  Sothern  and  Lee 
didn't,  and  how  much  cheaper  they  were  than  the 
more  established  concern;  also  they  wanted  to 
know  Mr.  Duncan.  I  suspect  no  drug-store  ever 
had  so  many  inquiries  for  articles  that  it  didn't 
carry,  but  might  possibly,  or  ought  to,  in  the  esti- 
mation of  the  prospective  purchasers,  as  well  as 
that  at  no  time  had  Radvillians  happened  to  think 
of  so  many  things  that  they  could  get  at  a  drug- 
gist's. People  drove  in  from  as  far  as  twenty 
miles  away,  as  soon  as  the  news  reached  them,  to 
buy  notepaper  and  stamps — people  who  didn't 


MOSTLY  ABOUT   BETTY  227 

write  or  receive  a  letter  a  month.  Will  Bigelow, 
even,  dropped  round  and  bought  samples  of  the 
tobacco  stock,  from  two-fors  up  to  ten-centers — 
and  smoked  them  with  expressive  snorts.  Tracey 
Tanner's  soda  and  cigarette  trade  was  transferred 
bodily  to  Graham's  from  the  first,  and  Roland 
Barnette  gave  it  his  patronage,  albeit  grudgingly, 
as  soon  as  he  found  it  impossible  to  shake  Josie 
Lockwood's  allegiance.  I  say  grudgingly,  because 
Roland  didn't  like  the  new  partner,  and  had  said 
so  from  the  first.  But  everyone  else  did  like  him, 
almost  without  exception.  His  attentiveness  and 
courtesy  were  not  ungrateful  after  the  way  things 
were  thrown  at  you  at  Sothern  and  Lee's,  we  de- 
clared. 

Duncan  certainly  did  strive  to  please.  No  man 
ever  worked  harder  in  a  Radville  store  than  he 
did.  And  from  the  time  that  he  began  to  believe 
there  would  be  some  reward  for  his  exertions, 
that  the  business  was  susceptible  to  being  built  up 
by  the  employment  of  progressive  methods,  he 
grew  astonishingly  prolific  of  ideas,  from  our 
sleepy  point  of  view.  The  window  displays  were 
changed  almost  daily,  to  begin  with,  and  were 
made  as  interesting  as  possible;  we  learned  to  go 
blocks  out  of  our  way  to  find  out  what  Graham  and 
Duncan  were  exploiting  to-day.  And  daily  bar- 
gain sales  were  instituted — low-priced  articles  of 
everyday  use,  such  as  shaving  soap,  tooth  brushes, 


228  THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

and  the  like,  being  sold  at  a  few  cents  above  cost 
on  certain  days  which  were  announced  in  advance 
by  means  of  hand-lettered  cards  in  the  show- 
windows;  whereas  formerly  we  had  always  been 
obliged  to  pay  full  list-prices.  An  axiom  of  his 
creed  as  it  developed  was  to  the  effect  that  stock 
must  not  be  allowed  to  stand  idle  upon  the  shelves; 
if  there  were  no  call  for  a  certain  line  of  articles, 
it  must  be  stimulated.  I  remember  that,  some  time 
along  in  August,  he  began  to  worry  about  the  in- 
activity in  cough-syrups. 

"  No  one  wants  cough-syrups  in  summer,"  he 
told  Graham;  "  that  stuff's  been  here  six  weeks  and 
more.  It's  getting  out  of  training.  Needs  exer- 
cise. Look  at  this  bottle :  it  says :  *  Shake  well.' 
Now  it  hasn't  been  shaken  at  all  since  it  was 
put  on  the  shelves,  and  I  haven't  got  time  to 
shake  it  every  morning.  We  must  either  hire  a 
boy  to  give  it  regular  exercise,  or  sell  it  off  and  get 
in  a  fresh  supply  for  the  winter.  I'll  have  to  think 
up  some  scheme  to  make  'em  take  it  off  our  hands." 

He  did.  Somehow  or  other  he  managed  to  con- 
vince us  that  forewarned  was  forearmed,  that  it 
was  better  to  have  a  bottle  or  two  of  cough-syrup 
in  our  medicine  chests  at  home  than  on  the  shelves 
of  the  drug-store,  when  the  chill  autumnal  winds 
began  to  blow,  especially  when  you  could  buy  it 
now  for  thirty-nine  cents,  whereas  it  would  be 
fifty-four  in  October. 


MOSTLY   ABOUT    BETTY  229 

Still  earlier  in  his  career  as  a  business  man  he 
noticed  that  the  local  practitioners  wrote  their 
prescriptions  on  odd  scraps  of  paper. 

"  That's  all  wrong,"  he  declared.  "  We'll  have 
to  fix  it."  And  by  next  morning  the  job-printing 
press  back  of  the  Court  House  was  groaning  under 
an  order  from  Graham  and  Duncan's,  and  a  few 
days  later  every  physician  within  several  miles  of 
Radville  received  half  a  dozen  neat  pads  of  blanks 
with  his  name  and  address  printed  at  the  top 
and  the  advice  across  the  bottom :  "  Go  to  Gra- 
ham's for  the  best  and  purest  drugs  and  chemi- 
cals." The  backs  of  the  blanks  were  utilised  to  re- 
quest people  living  out  of  reach,  but  on  rural  free 
delivery  routes,  either  to  mail  their  prescriptions 
and  other  orders  in,  or  have  the  physicians  tele- 
phone them,  promising  to  fill  and  despatch  them 
by  the  first  post. 

For  he  had  a  telephone  installed  within  the  first 
fortnight,  and  the  next  day  advertised  in  the 
Gazette  that  orders  by  telephone  would  receive 
prompt  attention  and  be  delivered  without  delay. 
Tracey  Tanner  became  his  delivery-boy,  deserting 
his  father's  stables  for  the  obvious  advantages  of 
three  dollars  a  week  with  a  chance  to  learn  the 
business.  .  .  .  Sothern  and  Lee  were  quick  to 
recognise  the  advantage  the  telephone  gave  Gra- 
ham and  Duncan,  and  promptly  had  one  put  in 
their  store;  but  the  delay  had  proven  almost 


230  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

fatal:  Radville  had  already  got  into  the  habit 
of  telephoning  to  Graham's  for  a  cake  of  soap, 
or  whatnot,  and  it's  hard  to  break  a  Radville 
habit. 

As  business  increased  and  the  stock  turned  itself 
over  at  a  profit,  Duncan  began  to  branch  out,  to 
make  improvements  and  introduce  new  lines  of 
goods.  He  it  was  who  inoculated  Radville  with 
the  habit  of  buying  manufactured  candies.  Up  to 
the  time  of  his  advent,  we  had  been  accustomed  to 
and  content  with  home-made  taffies  and  fudges — 
and  were,  I've  no  doubt,  vastly  better  off  on  that 
account.  But  Duncan,  starting  with  a  line  of  five- 
and  ten-cent  packages  of  indigestible  sweets,  in 
time  made  arrangements  with  a  big  Pittsburgh 
confectionery  concern  to  ship  him  a  small  con- 
signment of  pound  and  half-pound  "  fancy  "  boxes 
of  chocolates  and  bonbons  twice  a  week.  And 
taffy-pulls  and  fudge  parties  lapsed  into  desue- 
tude. 

Later,  Sperry  introduced  him  to  an  association 
of  druggists,  of  which  he  became  a  member,  for 
the  maintenance  and  exploitation  of  the  cigar  and 
tobacco  trade  in  connection  with  the  drug  busi- 
ness. They  installed  at  Graham's  a  handsome 
show-case  and  fixtures  especially  for  the  sale  and 
display  of  cigars,  and  thereafter  it  was  possible 
to  purchase  smokable  tobacco  in  our  town. 

Again,  he  treated  Radville  to  its  first  circulating 


MOSTLY   ABOUT   BETTY  231 

library,  establishing  a  branch  in  the  store.  One 
could  buy  a  book  at  a  moderate  price,  and  either 
keep  it  or  exchange  it  for  a  fee  of  a  few  cents. 
I  disputed  the  wisdom  of  this  move,  alleging,  and 
with  reason,  that  Radville  didn't  read  modern  fic- 
tion to  any  extent.  But  Duncan  argued  that  it 
didn't  matter.  "  They're  going  to  try  it  on  as  a 
novelty,  to  begin  with,"  he  said,  "and  it'll  bring 
'em  into  the  store  for  a  few  exchanges,  at  least. 
That's  all  I  want.  Once  we  get  'em  in  here,  it'll 
be  hard  if  we  can't  sell  them  something  else. 
You'll  see." 

He  was  right. 

Undoubtedly  he  made  the  business  hum  during 
those  first  few  months;  and  after  that  it  settled 
down  to  a  steady  forward  movement.  The  store 
became  a  social  centre,  a  place  for  people  to  meet. 
In  time  Tracey  was  promoted  to  be  assistant 
and  another  boy  engaged  to  make  deliveries. 
And  Duncan  had  never  been  happier; 
he  had  found  something  he  could  understand 
and,  understanding,  accomplish;  there  was  work 
for  his  hands  to  do,  and  they  had  discovered 
they  could  do  it  successfully.  I  don't  believe  he 
stopped  to  think  about  it  very  much,  but  he  was 
conscious  of  that  glow  of  achievement,  that 
heightening  of  the  spirits,  that  comes  with  the 
knowledge  of  success,  be  that  success  however  in- 
significant, and  it  benefited  him  enormously.  .  .  . 


232  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

But  this  chronicle  of  progress  has  run  away  al- 
together with  a  desultory  pen,  which  started  to  tell 
why  Duncan  didn't  want  to  go  to  Josie  Lock- 
wood's  party.  I  was  long  in  finding  out,  but  not 
so  long  as  Duncan  himself,  perhaps;  by  which  I 
mean  to  say  that  he  was  conscious  of  the  desire 
not  to  go,  and  determined  not  to,  without  stop- 
ping to  analyse  the  cause  of  that  desire  more  than 
very  superficially. 

It  happened,  toward  the  close  of  the  eventful 
day  already  detailed  at  such  length,  that  as  Dun- 
can was  entering  the  house  with  a  load  of  boxed 
goods,  he  heard  voices  in  the  store — young  voices. 
of  which  one  was  already  too  familiar  to  his  ears. 
He  paused,  waiting  for  them  to  get  through  with 
their  business  and  go ;  for  he  had  no  time  to  waste 
just  then,  even  upon  the  heiress  of  his  manufac- 
tured destiny.  Betty  was  keeping  shop  at  the 
time  (old  Sam  having  gone  upstairs  for  a  little 
rest,  who  was  overwrought  and  weary  with  the 
excitement  of  that  day)  and  it  was  Duncan's  hope 
that  she  would  be  able  to  serve  the  customers 
without  his  assistance. 

There  were  two  of  them,  you  see — Josie  and 
Angle  Tuthill — hunting  as  usual  in  couples;  and 
while  he  waited,  not  meaning  to  eavesdrop  but 
unwilling  to  betray  his  whereabouts  by  moving,  he 
heard  very  clearly  their  passage  with  Betty. 

He  overheard  first,  distinctly,  Betty  responding 


MOSTLY   ABOUT   BETTY  233 

in  expressionless  voice:  "Hello,  Angie.  .  .  . 
Hello,  Josie." 

There  ensued  what  seemed  a  slightly  awkward 
pause.  Then  Josie,  painfully  sweet:  "Did  you 
get  the  invitation,  Betty?  " 

Betty  moved  into  Duncan's  range  of  vision,  ap- 
parently intending  to  come  and  call  him.  She 
turned  at  the  question,  and  he  saw  her  small,  thin 
little  body  and  pinched  face  en  silhouette  against 
the  fading  light  beyond.  He  saw,  too,  that  she 
was  stiffening  herself  as  if  for  some  unequal  con- 
test. 

"The  invitation?"  she  questioned  dully,  but 
with  her  head  up  and  steady. 

"  Why,"  said  Josie,  "  I  sent  you  one.  To  the 
party,  you  know — my  lawn  feet  next  week." 

I  give  the  local  pronunciation  as  it  is. 

"Did  you?" 

"  I  gave  it  to  Tracey  for  you,"  persisted  the 
tormentor.  "  Didn't  you  get  it?  " 

Betty  caught  at  her  breath,  inaudibly;  only 
Duncan  could  see  the  little  spasm  of  mortification 
and  anger  that  shook  her. 

"Oh,  perhaps  I  did,"  she  said  shortly.  "I— 
I'll  ask  Mr.  Duncan  to  wait  on  you." 

She  swung  quickly  out  into  the  hallway,  slam- 
ming the  door  behind  her  and  so  darkening  it 
that  she  didn't  detect  Duncan's  shadowed  figure. 
And  if  she  had  meant  to  call  him,  she  must  have 


234  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

forgotten  it;  for  an  instant  later  he  heard  her 
stumbling  up  the  stairs,  and  as  she  disappeared  he 
caught  the  echo  of  a  smothered  sob. 

He  waited,  motionless,  too  disturbed  at  the  time 
to  care  to  enter  the  store  and  endure  Josie's  vapid 
advances;  and  through  the  thin  partition  there 
came  to  him  their  comments  on  Betty's  ungracious 
behaviour. 

"Well!     .    .    .     did  you  ever!" 

That  was  Angle ;  Josie  chimed  in  the  same  key : 

"  Oh,  what  did  you  expect  from  that  kind  of  a 
girl?" 

" Sshf  maybe  he's  coming!" 

After  a  moment's  silence,  Josie:  "  Oh,  come 
on.  Don't  let's  wait  any  longer.  I  don't  think 
it's  healthy  to  drink  sody  so  soon  before  dinner, 
anyway." 

"  And,  besides,  we  only  wanted  to  hear " 

Their  voices  with  their  footsteps  diminished. 
Duncan  allowed  a  prudent  interval  to  elapse,  en- 
tered the  store  and  began  to  bestow  the  goods  he 
had  brought  in. 

While  he  was  at  work  the  light  failed.  He 
stopped  for  lack  of  it  just  as  Betty  came  down- 
stairs. 

"Hello!"  he  said  cheerfully.  "Know  where 
the  matches  are?" 

"Yes."  She  moved  behind  a  counter  and 
fetched  him  a  few.  "  Are  you  'most  done?  "  she 


MOSTLY   ABOUT   BETTY  235 

inquired,  not  unfriendly,  as  he  took  down  from 
its  bracket  one  of  the  oil  lamps. 

"Hardly,"  he  responded,  touching  a  light  to 
the  wick  and  replacing  the  chimney.  "  It's  a  good 
deal  of  a  job." 

"Yes    .    .    ." 

He  replaced  the  lamp,  and  in  the  act  of  turn- 
ing toward  another  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  girl's 
face,  pale  and  drawn,  her  eyes  a  trifle  reddened. 
And  with  that  commonsense  departed  from  him, 
leaving  him  wholly  a  prey  to  his  impulse  of  pity. 
"  Oh,  thunder !  "  he  told  himself,  thrusting  a  hand 
into  his  pocket.  "  I  might  as  well  be  broke  as 
the  way  I  am  now."  He  produced  the  scanty  re- 
mains of  his  "  grubstake." 

"  Miss  Graham     .     .     ." 

"Yes?"  she  asked,  wondering. 

"  Could  you  get  a  party  dress  for  thirty-four 
dollars?" 

"Thirty-four  dollars!"  she  faltered. 

He  discovered  what  small  change  he  had  in  his 
pocket:  it  was  like  him  to  be  extravagant,  even 
extreme.  "And  fifty-three  cents?"  he  pursued, 
with  a  nervous  laugh. 

"  Heavens !  "  the  girl  gasped.  "  I  should  think 
so!" 

"  Then  go  ahead!  "  He  offered  her  the  money, 
but  she  could  only  stare,  incredulous.  "  I'll  stake 
you." 


336  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"  Oh  ...  wo,  Mr.  Duncan,"  she  managed 
to  say. 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  He  tried  to  catch  one  of  the 
hands  that  involuntarily  had  risen  toward  her 
face  in  a  gesture  of  wonder.  "  Please  do,"  he 
begged,  his  tone  persuasive,  "  as  a  favour  to  me." 

But  she  evaded  him,  stepping  back.  "  I  couldn't 
take  it;  I  couldn't  really." 

"Yes,  you  can.  Just  try  it  once,  and  see  how 
easy  it  is,"  he  persisted,  pursuing. 

"  No,  I  can't."  She  looked  up  shyly  and  shook 
her  head,  that  smile  of  her  mother's  for  the  mo- 
ment illuminating  her  face  almost  with  the  radi- 
ance of  beauty.  "  But  I — I  thank  you  very  much 
— just  the  same." 

"  But  I  want  you  to  go  to  that  party    .    .    ." 

"  You're  awful'  kind,"  she  said  softly,  still 
smiling,  "  but  I  don't  care  to  go,  now.  I " 

"  Don't  care  to !  Why,  you  were  insisting  on 
going,  a  little  while  ago." 

"  Yes,"  she  admitted  simply,  "  I  know  I  was. 
But  .  .  .  I've  been  thinking  over  what  you 
said,  since  then,  and  I  ...  I've  made  up  my 
mind  I'd  be  out  of  place  there." 

"Out  of  place!  "  he  echoed,  thunderstruck. 

"  Yes.  I've  concluded  I  belong  here  in  the 
store  with  father."  She  half  turned  away.  "  And 
I  guess  folks  is  better  off  if  they  stay  where  they 
belong.  .  .  ." 


MOSTLY  ABOUT   BETTY  237 

She  went  slowly  from  the  room,  and  he  re- 
mained staring,  stupefied. 

"  You  never  can  tell  about  a  woman,"  he  con- 
cluded with  all  the  gravity  of  an  original  philoso- 
pher. 


XV 

MANOEUVRES   OF   JOSIE 

NAT  didn't  go  to  the  Lockwood  lawn  fete,  and 
did  excuse  himself  on  the  plea  of  being  unable  to 
leave  the  store.  I'm  afraid  the  young  man  had 
a  faint,  fond  hope  that  Josie  would  be  offended; 
but  his  excuse  was  accepted  without  remonstrance. 
And,  indeed,  it  was  at  that  time  quite  a  reasonable 
one.  Tracey  had  not  been  added  to  the  staff,  al- 
though business  was  booming,  and  Saturday  night 
is,  as  everyone  who  has  lived  in  a  Radville  knows, 
the  busiest  of  the  week;  all  the  stores  keep  open 
late  on  Saturday — some  as  late  as  eleven — and 
frequently  take  in  half  the  week's  income  between 
noon  and  the  closing  hour.  Duncan  really 
couldn't  be  spared;  so  it's  probable  that  Josie 
cloaked  her  disappointment  and  comforted  her- 
self with  the  assurance  that  her  selection  of  the 
day  had  been  an  error  in  judgment,  of  which  she 
would  not  again  be  guilty. 

But  the  party  came  off,  without  fail,  and  that 
on  a  wonderful,  still,  moonlit  night;  and  every- 
body voted  it  a  splendid  success.  The  Citizen  in 
its  next  issue  recorded  the  event  to  the  extent  of 
a  column  and  a  half  of  reading  matter,  called  it 
238 


MANCEUVRES   OF  JOSIE  239 

a  social  function,  and  described  the  gowns  of  the 
leading  ladies  of  society  present  in  bewildering 
phrases.  I  was  not  invited,  but  the  owner  of  the 
paper  was,  and  his  wife  wrote  the  description  with 
the  assistance  of  the  entire  editorial  and  repor- 
torial  force,  a  dictionary  and  some  evil  if  sup- 
pressed language  from  the  foreman  of  the  com- 
posing-room. I  read  the  proofs  with  an  admira- 
tion strongly  tinctured  with  awe,  and  found  it 
lacking  in  one  particular  only:  no  mention  was 
made  of  Roland  Barnette's  first  open-faced  suit. 

Roland  had  ordered  it  from  a  clothing-house  in 
Chicago,  and  it  arrived  just  in  time.  Having 
heard  all  about  it  from  Roland's  own  lips  (they 
dilated  upon  the  matter  to  Watty  the  tailor,  just 
beneath  my  window),  I  sort  of  hung  round  down- 
town Saturday  evening  in  the  hope  of  catching  a 
glimpse  of  it,  and  was  not  disappointed.  I  was 
loitering  in  Graham's  when  Roland  sauntered  non- 
chalantly in  at  about  a  quarter  to  eight  and  called 
for  a  pack  of  "  Sweets."  Sam  served  him,  and 
Duncan,  happily  for  him  disengaged  at  the  mo- 
ment, after  one  look  at  Roland  retired  precipi- 
tately behind  the  prescription  counter — overcome, 
I  judged  from  Roland's  triumphant  smirk,  by 
deepest  chagrin.  Well,  thought  I,  might  he  have 
been:  he  could  never,  by  whatever  wildest  en- 
deavour, have  approximated  Roland's  splendour. 

The  coat  was  bob-tailed  (at  least,  so  Watty  de- 


240  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

scribed  it  within  my  hearing)  and  curiously 
double-breasted,  caught  together  at  the  waist  with 
a  single  button,  thus  revealing  a  shining  expanse 
of  very  stiff  shirt-bosom ;  which  creaked,  for  some 
reason.  With  this  Roland  wore  a  ribbed  white- 
silk  waistcoat,  very  brilliant  low-cut  patent  leather 
shoes,  and  white-silk  socks.  The  trousers  were 
strikingly  cut,  as  to  each  leg,  after  the  physical 
configuration  of  the  domestic  pear,  and  the  effect  of 
the  whole  was  measurably  enhanced  by  an  opera- 
hat — one  of  those  tall  and  striking  contraptions 
that  you  can  shut  up  by  pressing  gently  but  firmly 
upon  the  human  midriff  and  looking  unconscious, 
but  which  is  apt  to  open  with  a  resounding  report 
if  you're  not  careful.  ...  I  am  glad  to  be  able 
to  report  that  Roland  failed  to  commit  the  sole- 
cism of  wearing  a  red  string  tie;  his  tie  was  a 
sober  black,  firmly  knotted  at  the  factory.  I'm 
glad  too,  for  the  sartorial  honour  of  Radville,  that 
Roland  knew  how  to  wear  such  fixin's:  that  is  to 
say,  with  an  expression  of  proud  defiance. 

After  he  had  departed,  stepping  high,  Sam 
called  me  behind  the  counter  to  assist  in  reviving 
Duncan.  We  found  him  leaning  upon  the  counter, 
his  forehead  resting  upon  a  mortar,  very  red  in 
the  face  and  breathing  stertorously ;  and  when  Sam 
addressed  him,  to  learn  what  was  the  matter,  he 
seemed  unable  to  speak,  but  choked  and  beat  the 
air  feebly  with  his  hands.  Sam  concluded  he  had 


MANOEUVRES    OF  JOSIE  24.1 

swallowed  something,  and  was,  I  think,  right;  he 
was  plainly  half  strangled,  and  only  recovered 
after  we  had  beaten  his  back  severely.  Then  he 
refused  any  explanation,  beyond  saying  that  he 
was  subject  to  such  seizures. 

After  the  party  the  town's  excitement  simmered 
down  and  subsided;  we  had  become  moderately 
accustomed  to  the  presence  of  Duncan  in  our 
midst  (strange  as  this  may  sound),  and  for  some 
time  nothing  happened  germane  to  the  fate  of  the 
Fortune  Hunter. 

On  his  part,  he  fell  into  a  routine  without  the 
least  evidence  of  discontent.  He  was  early  to 
rise  and  early  to  work,  and  rarely  left  the  store 
save  at  meal  hours  and  closing-up  time.  And  in 
the  course  of  our  serene  days,  I  began  to  notice  in 
him  an  increasing  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the 
church;  he  seemed  to  look  forward  with  a  not  un- 
eager  anticipation  to  the  fixtures  of  its  calendar. 
He  attended  with  admirable  regularity  both  morn- 
ing and  evening  services,  on  Sunday,  the  mid- 
weekly  prayer-meeting,  and  Friday  evening  choir 
practice.  For  in  the  course  of  time  he  had  been 
won  over  to  join  the  choir,  and  modestly  discov- 
ered to  our  edification  a  barytone  voice,  wholly 
untrained  but  not  unpleasing.  Mrs.  Rogers,  our 
organist,  averred  his  superiority  to  Packy  Soule, 
whom  he  superseded,  and  was  supported  in  this 
estimate  by  the  remainder  of  the  choir,  with  the 


242  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

exception  of  Roland  Barnette,  who  helped  with 
his  reedy  tenor.  Josie  Lockwood  sang  contralto 
and  Bess  Gabriel  what  we  were  informed  was 
soprano — only  Radville  called  it  a  treble.  Tracey 
Tanner  pumped  the  organ  and  puffed  audibly  in 
the  pauses — a  singular  testimony  to  his  devotion 
to  Angie  Tuthill,  who  "just  sang"  with  the 
others,  chiefly  because  she  was  Josre's  nearest 
friend. 

I  remember  that,  one  Sunday  night  after  even- 
ing service,  Duncan  confided  to  me,  quite  seri- 
ously, "  that  the  church  thing  was  getting  to  him." 
He  seemed  somewhat  surprised,  to  a  degree  indig- 
nant, as  if  he  suspected  religion  of  having  taken 
an  advantage  of  him  in  some  roundabout,  under- 
hand way.  .  .  .  He  wondered  audibly  what 
Harry  would  think  if  he  could  see  him  now. 

He  had  settled  down  to  a  pretty  steady  corre- 
spondence with  Kellogg,  chiefly  on  business  mat- 
ters. Kellogg  was  investigating  old  Sam's  burner, 
and  seemed  quite  impressed  with  its  possibilities. 
He  had  quarrelled  with  Roland's  friend,  Burn- 
ham,  on  Duncan's  representations,  and  ordered 
him  out  of  the  offices  of  L.  J.  Bartlett  &  Com- 
pany, it  seemed.  Later  he  opened  up  negotiations 
with  a  corporation  known  as  the  Modern  Gas 
Company,  I  believe,  a  'competitor  of  Consolidated 
Petroleum,  and  in  due  course  representatives  of 
both  concerns  came  to  Radville,  examined  the 


MANOEUVRES    OF  JOSIE  243 

burner,  and  retired,  non-committal.  Then  Bart- 
lett  sent  a  requisition  for  a  model,  and  supplied 
the  funds  for  making  it — thus  demonstrating  his 
confidence.  Sam  never  had  such  a  good  time  in 
his  life  as  when  occupied  with  that  model,  and  in 
his  elation  was  inspired  to  invent  two  notable 
improvements  on  the  machine — which  were 
promptly  patented.  Then  the  model  was  de- 
spatched, receipt  acknowledged,  and  nothing  en- 
sued for  three  or  four  months.  Radville,  which 
had  been  watching  and  wondering  with  open  in- 
credulity and  dissatisfaction  (this  latter  because 
neither  Graham  nor  Duncan  would  talk  about  the 
matter),  concluded  that  the  whole  business  had 
gone  up  in  smoke,  said  "  I  told  ye  so,"  and  for- 
got it  completely.  Roland  Barnette,  I  believe, 
drove  the  last  nail  in  the  coffin  of  our  expectations 
that  anything  would  ever  come  of  it,  by  writ- 
ing to  Burnham  that  Duncan's  negotiations  had 
failed,  and  inviting  him  to  renew  his  offer  if  he 
thought  it  worth  while.  Presumably  he  didn't, 
for  Roland  received  no  reply,  and  told  the  town 
so.  ... 

I  don't  remember  just  how  soon  it  was,  but  it 
was  shortly  after  the  formation  of  the  firm  of 
Graham  and  Duncan  that  the  young  man  received 
his  first  invitation  to  dinner  at  the  Lockwoods'. 
He  accepted,  of  course,  whether  he  wanted  to  or 
not,  for  there  could  be  no  excuse  for  his  refusing 


244  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

a  Sunday  bid,  and  the  Lockwoods  made  quite  an 
event  of  it.  The  Soules  were  invited,  because 
they  were  Araminta  Lockwood's  brother  and  sis- 
ter-in-law, and  the  Godfreys  came  over  from 
Westerly  to  grace  the  board  as  representatives  of 
the  Lockwood  strain.  Also  Ben  Lockwood  at- 
tended— Blinky's  first  cousin  and  senior. 

Duncan  described  the  function  in  a  letter  to 
Kellogg  as  the  time  of  his  young  life.  Undoubt- 
edly it  was  in  certain  respects  singular  in  his  ex- 
perience. The  entire  party  walked  home  from 
church  through  a  hot  August  noon,  with  that  air 
of  chastened  joy  common  to  a  gathering  of  rela- 
tions— an  atmosphere  of  festive  gloom  and 
funeral  baked  meats  painfully  enlivened  by  ex- 
hilarating jests  from  old  Ben,  who  was  a  connois- 
seur of  vintages  when  it  came  to  jokes.  Duncan 
wished  fervently,  first  that  he  might  expire;  sec- 
ondly, and  with  greater  intensity  of  feeling,  that 
they  all  might  die.  Minta  Lockwood,  he  felt, 
was  slowly  but  expertly  greasing  him  with  adula- 
tion— as  a  python  prepares  its  prey  before  dining 
(or  is  it  a  python?) — and  he  knew  he  was  pres- 
ently to  be  swallowed  alive. 

They  dined  protractedly.  The  meal,  consisting 
of  baked  chicken,  mashed  potatoes,  boiled  onions 
with  cream  sauce,  boiled  beets  and  green  corn,  fol- 
lowed by  rhubarb  pie  and  ice  cream,  was  served 
by  an  independent,  bony  and  red-faced  specimen 


MANOEUVRES    OF   JOSIE  245 

of  the  "  help "  genus.  The  atmosphere  was 
stifling,  with  the  heat  of  the  day  thickened  by  the 
steam  and  odour  of  cooked  food.  Duncan  was 
seated  consciously  beside  Josie — a  circumstance  of 
which,  in  fact,  everyone  else  seemed  tolerantly 
aware.  He  writhed  in  impotent  agony,  con- 
fronted alone  by  the  consciousness  he  had  brought 
this  thing  upon  himself:  it  was  a  part  of  his  pun- 
ishment. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  meal,  which  endured 
throughout  two  interminable  hours,  the  elder  men- 
folk withdrew  to  the  garden  and  the  lawn,  where 
they  strolled  about,  sleepy  eyes  glistening  with  re- 
pletion, until  finally  they  disappeared,  to  each  his 
doze.  The  ladies  foregathered  in  the  parlour, 
conversing  in  undertones,  with  significant  glances 
and  liftings  of  their  eyebrows.  Nat  was  left  to 
Josie,  who  conducted  him  to  the  side  porch,  out 
of  sight  of  everybody,  and  planted  herself  in 
the  baggy  hammock  there.  She  was  gay,  even 
brilliant  within  her  limitations,  arch,  naive,  coquet- 
tish, shy,  petulant,  by  turns:  animated  by  a  sense 
of  conquest.  She  supplied  the  major  part  of  the 
conversation,  chatting  volubly  on  the  thousand 
subjects  she  didn't  understand,  the  dozen  she  did. 
In  the  most  ingenuous  manner  imaginable  she  laid 
herself  open  to  advances,  not  once,  but  a  score  of 
times ;  and  when  he  failed  to  respond  according  to 
the  code  of  Radville,  had  the  wit  to  mask  her 


246  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

chagrin,  did  she  feel  any:  very  probably  she  laid 
his  lack  of  responsiveness  at  the  door  of  his  shy- 
ness (a  quality  he  was  wholly  without)  and  liked 
him  the  better  for  it. 

It  was  on  this  day  that  she  extracted  from  him 
his  promise  to  join  the  choir;  he  acceded  through 
apathy  alone. 

"  I  don't  care  whether  you  can  sing  or  not," 
she  confessed,  with  a  look.  "  But  I  do  want  some- 
body to  walk  home  with  me  that  ...  I 
like." 

"  That's  a  nice  way  of  putting  it,"  Duncan  con- 
sidered without  emphasis. 

"  Roland  Barnette's  always  walked  home  with 
me,  but  I  think  he's  just  tiresome." 

"Why?"  inquired  the  young  man,  with  some 
interest. 

She  averted  her  head,  plucking  at  the  strands 
of  the  hammock.  "  Oh,  you  know,"  she  said  diffi- 
dently. 

"Oh?"  Nat  was  enlightened.  "Then  I'm 
sorry  for  Roland." 

"Why?" 

"  I  can't  blame  him,  you  know."  He  couldn't 
help  this:  the  time,  the  place,  the  girl  inspired, 
indeed  incited,  one  to  banality. 

"  Why?  "  she  persisted. 

"  Oh,  you  know."  He  caught  the  intonation  of 
her  previous  words  precisely. 


MANOEUVRES    OF  JOSIE  247 

She  had  the  grace  to  blush  and  hang  her  head; 
but  he  received  a  thrilling  sidelong  glance. 

"  Ah  .  .  .  aren't  you  awful  to  talk  that 
way,  Mr.  Duncan?" 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted  meekly. 

"Then  you  will  join  the  choir?"  she  pursued, 
failing  to  fathom  the  meaning  of  that  humble 
acquiescence.  Any  other  boy  or  man  of  her  ac- 
quaintance would  have  taken  her  remark  as 
openly  provocative. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  agreed  listlessly. 

"I'm  so  glad    .    .    ." 

He  thanked  her,  but  avoided  her  eye. 

"We  might's  well  begin  to-night,"  she  sug- 
gested presently,  with  diffident,  downcast  eyes. 

"What— the  choir?"  He  was  startled.  "Oh, 
I  couldn't  without  a  rehearsal " 

"  No,  I  didn't  mean  that   .    .    ." 

"No?" 

"  I  mean  about  Roland."  She  was  paying  mi- 
nute attention  to  the  lace  insertion  of  her  skirt. 
From  "this  circumstance  he  divined  that  he  was  on 
dangerous  ground,  but  could  not,  in  his  stupidity, 
understand  just  what  made  it  dangerous. 

"About  Roland ?" 

"  Yes;  I  mean  .  .  .  You  know  what  I  mean, 
Mr.  Duncan?" 

"  I  assure  you  I  do  not,  Miss  Lockwood." 

"  About  not  walking  home  with  him  any  more. 


248  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

I  don't  want  to.  I  wish  you'd  commence  to-night, 
instead  of  choir  practice  night.  I'd  much  rather 
walk  home  with  you." 

"After  evening  service,  you  mean?"  She 
nodded.  "  It'll  be  a  great  pleasure." 

"  Really?  "     She  gave  him  her  eyes  now. 

"  Really,"  he  assured  her. 

"  Ah,  I  don't  believe  you  mean  that!  " 

"  But  indeed  I  do.    .    .    ." 

It  was  not  until  nearly  five  o'clock  that  he  was 
given  a  chance  to  escape.  He  had,  even  then,  to 
refuse  inflexibly  an  invitation  to  stay  to  supper. 

Minta  Lockwood — an  expansive  woman,  gen- 
erously convex — almost  smothered  him  with  ap- 
preciation of  his  thanks.  She  held  his  hand  in  a 
large,  moist  palm  and  beamed  upon  him,  saying : 
"  Now't  you  know  the  way,  Mr.  Duncan  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,"  Blinky  insisted,  blinking  roguishly, 
"  drop  in  any  time.  Take  pot  luck.  We're  plain 
people,  Mr.  Duncan,  but  allus  glad  to  see  our 
friends.  Drop  in  any  time." 

Josie  accompanied  him  to  the  front  gate,  where 
etiquette  required  him  to  linger  for  a  parting 
chat.  .  .  . 

"  Good-bye."  The  girl  gave  him  her  hand. 
"  I'm  real  glad  you  came — at  last." 

"  The  pleasure  has  been  all  mine,"  insisted  the 
gallant  bromide,  fishing  the  trite  phrase  desper- 
ately from  the  grey  vacuity  of  his  thoughts. 


MANOEUVRES    OF  JOSIE  249 

"You  won't  forget?" 

"Forget  what?" 

"About  to-night?" 

"Do  you  imagine  I  could?    .    .    ." 

Josie  returned  to  the  family  conclave,  to  inter- 
rupt a  symposium  on  Duncan's  qualities.  He  was 
unanimously  approved,  on  every  point.  She  took 
no  part  in  the  conversation,  but  listened,  aglow 
with  the  pride  of  triumph,  until  old  Ben  chose 
to  observe: 

"He  seems  to've  taken  a  right  smart  set  for 
Josie." 

Then  she  rose,  blushing,  and  tossed  her  pretty, 
pert  head.  "How  you  all  do  talk!"  she  cried. 
"  I'm  not  thinking  about  Mr.  Duncan  that  way." 
!And  she  left  the  gathering. 

"  You  might's  well  begin  now  as  later,"  pur- 
sued her,  accompanied  by  chucklings;  and  she 
tossed  her  head,  but  wasn't  at  all  displeased,  be 
sure. 

Duncan  wrote  to  Kellogg  in  his  room  that  night 
after  church :  "  I  don't  want  to  sound  immodest, 
but  it  looks  as  if  you  were  right,  old  man :  appar- 
ently there's  nothing  to  it.  ... 

"  Probably  I  should  have  stayed  on  for  supper, 
but  I  couldn't;  I  should  have  choked.  As  it  was, 
my  soul  was  curdling.  Another  ten  minutes  and 
I  should  have  jumped  down  on  the  lawn  and  run 
round  the  house  on  all  fours,  yapping  and  foam- 


250  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

ing  at  the  mouth,  and  have  wound  up  by  biting 
old  Blinky.  .  .  . 

"  The  worst  of  it  all  is,  I  know  I'm  ungrateful : 
I  know  they  mean  well.  But  why  is  it  that  people 
who  mean  well  almost  invariably  grate  upon  your 
sensibilities  like  the  screeching  of  a  slate-pencil? 

"  In  this  case,  I  suspect  it's  a  case  of  when  Snob 
meets  Snob.  A  snob,  I  take  it,  is  a  fellow  who 
holds  himself  your  superior  because  he  looks  at 
things  in  a  different  way.  That  counts  me  a  snob 
in  my  mental  attitude  toward  the  Lockwoods.  I 
don't  understand  their  conception  of  life — wasn't 
brought  up  to  understand  it.  And  yet  I  know 
they're  not  a  bad  sort,  though  they  bore  me  to 
death  what  time  I'm  not  laughing  in  my  sleeve 
at  them.  Blinky,  for  instance,  is  an  old  screw,  but 
he  can't  help  that;  he  was  born  that  way;  and 
aside  from  the  fact  that  money  has  made  him 
snobbish  toward  his  neighbours,  he's  a  simple, 
honest,  square-dealing  (according  to  his  lights) 
old  Jasper.  He's  not  snobbish  toward  me,  be- 
cause I've  got  something  he  admires  but  can't 
understand  and  never  can  acquire ;  but  he's  a  snob 
of  the  first  water  when  it  comes  to  somebody  like 
this  old  prince  I'm  working  for — Graham — and 
his  daughter.  And  so  is  Josie.  .  .  . 

"  But  I  mustn't  say  mean  things  about  my  fu- 
ture spouse,  I  presume.  .  .  .  That  is  the  great 
trouble  with  your  infernal  scheme,  Harry:  it 


MANOEUVRES   OF  JOSIE  251 

seems  to  be  working  like  a  charm,  and  now  that 
I've  got  something  to  do  I'm  not  so  strong  for  it 
as  I  was.  But  I  gave  you  my  word.  .  .  .  Only, 
mind  this:  if  the  rules  prescribe  a  perpetual  course 
of  Sunday  dinners,  en  famille,  it's  going  to  break 
down  and  turn  out  a  natural-born  flivver.  There 
are  limits  to  human  endurance,  and  I'm  human, 
whatever  else  I  am  not.  ." 


XVI 

WHERE   RADVILLE    FEARED  TO  TREAD 

SUMMER  slumbered  to  its  close,  a  drowsy  autumn 
settled  upon  our  valley,  in  which  its  traditional 
peace  seemed  but  the  more  profound.  The  skies 
darkened  to  an  ineffable  intensity  of  blue ;  the  liv- 
ery of  the  fields  was  changed,  green  giving  place 
to  gold;  the  woodlands  and  lower  slopes  of  our 
hills  flamed  with  the  scarlet  of  dying  sumach,  with 
the  russet  and  orange  and  crimson  of  a  foliage 
making  merry  against  its  moribund  to-morrows; 
a  drought  parched  the  land,  and  our  little  river 
lessened  to  a  mere  trickle  of  water.  The  daylight 
hours  became  sensibly  abbreviated;  while  they  en- 
dured they  were  golden  and  warm  and  hazy: 
faint  veils  of  purple  shrouded  the  distances. 
Twilight  fell  early,  its  air  sweet  with  the  tang  of 
dead  leaves  raked  into  heaping  bonfires  by  the 
children  of  the  town.  The  nights  were  long  and 
cool,  with  a  hint  of  frosts  to  come.  Day  dissolved 
into  day  almost  imperceptibly.  .  .  . 

Josie  Lockwood  announced  that  she  was  going 
away  to  school  in  New  York  for  the  winter.  Pete 
Willing  took  the  pledge  and  kept  it  almost  a 
month.  Will  Bigelow  secured  time-tables  and  la- 
boriously mapped  out  his  semi-annually  contem- 
252 


.WHERE  RADVILLE  FEARED  TO  TREAD  253 

plated  trip  to  the  East:  like  the  others  destined 
never  to  come  off.  Tracey  Tanner  went  to  work 
for  Graham  and  Duncan.  The  Citizen  gained 
eighteen  subscribers;  four  old  ones  paid  up  their 
accounts.  Babies  were  born,  people  married  and 
died,  loved  and  hated,  lived  in  striving  or  sloth, 
accomplished  or  failed.  Roland  Barnette  paid 
ostentatious  attentions  to  Bess  Gabriel,  who  tol- 
erated him  simply  because  she  didn't  much  like 
Josie;  but,  blighted  by  Josie's  supreme  indiffer- 
ence, this  budding  passion  drooped  and  failed  by 
mutual  consent  of  both  parties  concerned.  Angie 
Tuthill  became  more  conspicuously  than  ever  the 
orb  of  Tracey's  universe.  Duncan  walked  home 
with  Jcsie  on  two  weekday  evenings  and  twice  on 
Sundays,  and  learned  how  to  play  Halma  and  Par- 
cheesi,  as  well  as  how  long  to  linger  at  the  front 
gate  in  the  gloaming,  saying  good-night.  Eight 
young  women  of  the  town  set  their  caps  for  him,  at 
one  time  or  another  and  ...  set  them  back  again, 
because  he  was  too'  blind  to  see.  As  a  body  they 
united  with  the  female  element  in  Radville  in  con- 
demning Josie  for  a  heartless  flirt,  and  sympathis- 
ing with  Nat,  behind  his  back,  for  being  so  nice 
and  at  the  same  time  so  easily  taken  in.  Mrs. 
Lockwood  gave  a  Bridge  party  which  failed  as 
such  because  Radville  knew  not  Bridge ;  but  every- 
body went  and  played  progressive  euchre,  instead. 
The  drug-store  prospered  in  moderation,  Soth- 


254  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

ern  and  Lee  vainly  contesting  its  conquering  cam- 
paign.   And  Duncan  grew  thoughtful. 

One  has  more  time  to  think  unselfishly  in  Rad- 
ville  than  in  a  great  city,  where  there's  rarely  more 
time  than  enough  to  think  of  one's  own  concerns. 
And  Duncan  was  making  time  to  think  about 
others — notably,  Betty  Graham.  The  girl  was, 
as  usual,  shy,  reticent,  reserved;  she  kept  her 
thoughts  to  herself,  sharing  the  most  intimate  not 
even  with  old  Sam,  who  would  talk;  but  Duncan 
divined  that  she  was  unhappy.  The  easier  cir- 
cumstances of  the  family  had  provided  her  with  a 
few  simple  frocks,  adequate  clothing  which  she 
had  gone  without  for  years,  and  with  a  sufficiency 
of  wholesome  and  appetising  food:  with  these, 
peace  of  mind  should  likewise  have  come  to  her, 
and  content.  But  Duncan  thought  they  hadn't. 
Relieved,  on  Tracey's  engagement,  of  any  share  in 
the  store  service,  she  had  only  the  housework  for 
herself  and  father  to  occupy  her;  her  associations 
with  the  girls  of  her  age  were  distant  and  con- 
strained. Usage  wears  into  tradition  in  the  Rad- 
villes  of  our  land;  even  with  the  young  folks  this 
is  so;  and  in  Betty's  case,  the  girl  had  for  so 
long  been  "  out  of  it,"  debarred  by  her  unfortu- 
nate circumstances  from  participation  in  the  pas- 
times, pleasures  and  duties  of  her  generation,  that 
by  common  consent,  unspoken  but  none  the  less 
absolute,  she  remained  an  outsider.  You  might 


WHERE  RADVILLE  FEARED  TO  TREAD  255 

say  that  she  relied  on  her  father  alone  for  com- 
panionship. Duncan  she  avoided,  unobstrusively 
but  with  pains ;  he  consorted  with  those  with  whom 
she  had  nothing  in  common,  and  she  would  not 
thrust  herself  upon  him  or  seem  to  seek  his  no- 
tice. Her  early  suspicion  and  sullen  resentment 
of  his  intrusion  into  their  affairs  had  vanished; 
there  remained  only  a  gnawing  consciousness  that 
to  him  she  was  little  or  nothing,  that  his  vision 
ranged  above  her  humble  head.  She  was  not  the 
sort  to  take  this  ill ;  she  was  reasonable  enough  to 
believe  it  natural.  But  she  would  not  willingly  in- 
trude upon  his  thoughts — who  little  knew  how 
much  she  did  occupy  his  leisure  moments. 

He  saw  her  go  and  come,  a  wistful  shadow  on 
the  borders  of  his  occupations,  self-contained,  a 
little  timid,  but  at  the  same  time  brave  in  her  own 
quiet,  uncomplaining  fashion.  And  the  distant 
look  in  those  soft  eyes  he  divined  to  be  one  of 
longing  for  that  which  she  might  not  possess — • 
the  advantages  that  other  girls  had,  socially  and 
educationally,  the  pleasures  they  contrived,  the  at- 
tentions they  received,  the  thousand  and  one  slight 
things  that  make  existence  life  for  a  woman.  He 
saw  her  drooping  insensibly  day  by  day,  growing 
a  little  paler,  a  shade  more  aloof  and  listless. 
And  he  became  infinitely  concerned  for  her. 

He  told  himself  he  had  solved  the  problem  of 
her  disease,  but  its  remedy  remained  beyond  his 


256  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

reach.  The  business  was  doing  very  well  indeed, 
but  it  was  still  young  and  must  be  subjected  to  as 
few  financial  drains  as  possible;  as  it  ran,  there 
was  an  income  sufficient  to  board,  lodge  and  clothe 
the  three  of  them,  maintain  the  credit  of  the 
partnership,  and  now  and  again  admit  of  a  slight 
but  advantageous  addition  to  the  stock  or  fixtures. 
Things  would  certainly  be  better  in  the  course 
of  time,  but  .  .  .  Kellogg  he  would  not  beg 
another  dollar  of,  the  bank  was  an  equally  impos- 
sible resourse;  there  wasn't  a  chance  in  a  hun- 
dred that  Lockwood  would  refuse  to  accommo- 
date the  growing  concern  with  money  in  reason, 
but  the  concern,  individually  and  collectively, 
would  never  ask  it  of  him.  There  remained ? 

It  came  to  pass  that  he  left  the  store  early  one 
evening,  excusing  himself  on  the  plea  of  some 
slight  indisposition,  and  lost  himself  for  the  space 
of  two  hours.  I  mean  to  say,  that  no  one  knew 
where  he  went  until  long  after.  When  he  came 
home  some  time  after  ten  he  told  me  he  had  been 
for  a  walk.  .  .  . 

He  found  himself  shortly  after  eight  at  pause 
by  the  gate  to  the  Bohun  place.  The  night  was 
dark  and  murmurous  with  a  sibilant  wind  that 
sent  the  leaves  drifting,  softly  clashing  one  with 
another.  At  the  far  end  of  the  straight  brick 
walk,  up  through  the  formal  grounds,  he  could 
just  see  the  glimmer  of  the  stately  columns,  and, 


WHERE  RADVILLE  FEARED  TO  TREAD  257 

between  them,  to  one  side,  a  little  twinkling  light. 
The  gate  was  closed,  but  he  tried  it  and  found 
it  on  the  latch.  He  entered  and  scuffled  up  the 
walk,  ankle  deep  in  fallen  leaves.  His  footfalls  as 
he  crossed  the  porch  sounded  startlingly  loud  by 
contrast;  he  even  fancied  a  note  of  indignation  in 
the  cavernous  echoes  of  the  knocker  on  the  front 
door.  He  waited  with  a  thumping  heart,  aware 
that  he  was  venturing  where  even  fools  would 
fear  to  tread. 

An  aged  negro  butler,  one  of  the  freed  slaves 
brought  from  Virginia  by  the  Bohuns,  admitted 
him  to  the  hall  and  took  his  card,  smothering  his 
own  wonderment.  For  in  those  days  nobody  dis- 
turbed the  silence  and  the  peace  of  decay  of  the 
Bohun  mansion  save  its  master.  And  Duncan 
had  long  to  wait  in  the  wide,  gloomy,  musty  hall 
before  the  servant  returned. 

"  Cunnul  Bohun  will  see  yo',  suh,"  he  said,  and 
ushered  him  into  the  library — a  great,  high-ceiled, 
shadowy  room  illuminated  by  a  single  lamp,  ten- 
anted by  the  old  colonel  alone. 

Bohun  received  the  young  man  standing:  he 
was  as  courteous  beneath  his  own  roof  as  he  was 
impossible  away  from  it.  A  quaint  old  figure, 
with  his  grey  hair  tousled  and  his  dressing-gown 
draped  grotesquely  from  his  shoulders,  he  stood 
by  the  fireplace,  Duncan's  card  between  his  fingers, 
and  bowed  ceremoniously. 


258  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"Mr.  Duncan,  I  believe?" 

Nat  returned  the  bow.  "Yes,  sir,"  he  said. 
*'  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  pardon  this  intru- 
sion, Colonel  Bohun,  and  spare  me  five  minutes 
of  your  time?  " 

The  colonel  nodded.  "At  your  service,  sir," 
he  replied,  and  waited  grimly — perhaps  not  un- 
suspicious of  the  nature  of  his  visitor's  errand, 
since  he  could  not  have  been  ignorant  of  his  place 
in  Radville. 

Duncan  had  his  own  way  of  getting  at  things — 
generally  more  circuitous  than  now,  though  he 
struck  on  a  tangent  sufficiently  acute  momentarily 
to  puzzle  Bohun. 

"  May  I  inquire,  sir,  if  you  are  acquainted  with 
the  firm  of  L.  J.  Bartlett  &  Company  of  New 
York?" 

"  I  have  heard  of  it,  Mr.  Duncan,  through  the 
newspapers." 

"  You  know  that  it  ranks  pretty  high,  then,  I 
presume?" 

"  I  understand  that  such  is  the  case." 

"  Then  would  you  mind  doing  me  the  favour  of 
writing  to  Mr.  Henry  Kellogg,  the  junior  part- 
ner, and  asking  him  about  me?  " 

The  colonel  stiffened.  "  May  I  ask  why  I 
should  do  anything  so  uncalled-for?" 

"  Because  it  isn't  uncalled-for,  sir.  I  mean,  you 
won't  think  so  after  I've  explained." 


WHERE  RADVILLE  FEARED  TO  TREAD  259 

Bohun  inclined  his  head,  searching  Nat's  face 
with  his  keen,  bright  eyes. 

"You  see,  sir,  it's  this  way:  I  want  you  to 
entrust  me  with  a  considerable  sum  of  money,  and 
naturally  you  wouldn't  do  that  without  knowing 
something  about  me." 

"  I  incline  very  much  to  doubt  that  I  should  do 
it  in  any  event,  Mr.  Duncan." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that.  You  don't  know  the  cir- 
cumstances, as  yet."  Nat  jerked  his  head  ear- 
nestly at  the  colonel.  "You  see,  you're  said  to 
be  one  of  the  richest  men  in  town,  and  I'm  cer- 
tainly one  of  the  poorest,  so  of  course  I  turn  to 
you  in  a  case  like  this." 

"In  a  case  like  what,  Mr.  Duncan?"  Some- 
thing in  the  young  man's  manner  seemed  to  tickle 
the  colonel;  Duncan  could  have  sworn  that  the 
eyes  were  twinkling  beneath  the  savagely  knitted 
brows. 

"  Well,  you  must  understand  I'm  in  business 
here  in  Radville — a  partner  in  a  growing  and 
prospering  concern — ah — doing — very  well,  in 
point  of  fact." 

"Yes?" 

"  But  we  haven't  any  spare  capital ;  in  fact,  we 
haven't  got  any  capital  worth  mentioning.  But 
the  business  is  entirely  sound  and  solvent." 

"  I  congratulate  you,  sir." 

"  Thank  you  very  much.    .    .    .    Now  I'm  in- 


260  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

terested  in  a  rather  singular  case :  that  of  a  young 
woman — a  girl,  I  should  say— daughter  of  my 
partner.  She's  a  good  girl  and  wonderfully  sweet 
and  fine,  sir.  She  comes  of  one  of  the  best 
families  in  these  parts " 

"  On  her  mother's  side,"  suggested  the  colonel 
drily. 

"  So  I'm  told,  sir.  But  she's  been  neglected. 
Circumstances  have  been  against  her.  She  hasn't 
had  a  real  chance  in  life,  but  she  ought  to  have  it, 
and  I'm  going  to  see  that  she  gets  it,  one  way  or 
another." 

"You  haven't  finished?"  said  the  colonel 
coldly,  as  he  paused  for  breath  and  thought. 

"  Not  quite,  sir,"  said  Duncan.  "  Good  sign!  " 
he  told  himself:  "he  hasn't  ordered  me  thrown 
out  yet."  And  he  hurried  on,  speaking  quickly 
in  the  semi-humorous  style  he  had,  more  arresting 
to  the  attention  than  absolute  gravity  would  have 
been. 

"To  come  down  to  cases,  sir,  she  ought  to 
be  sent  to  a  good  boarding-school  for  a  few 
years.  It'll  make  a  new  woman  of  her — a  woman 
to  be  proud  of.  She's  got  that  in  her — it  only 
needs  to  be  brought  out." 

"  And  before  you  leave,  sir,"  said  the  colonel 
with  significant  precision,  "  will  you  be  so  kind  as 
to  inform  me  why  you  think  this  should  interest 
me?" 


WHERE  RADVILLE  FEARED  TO  TREAD  261 

"No,"  said  Duncan  candidly;  "I  haven't  got 
the  nerve  to.  But  what  I  wanted  to  propose  was 
this:  that  you  lend  me  five  hundred  dollars  to 
cover  the  expense  of  the  first  year,  on  condition 
that  I  represent  the  money  as  coming  from  the 
profits  of  the  business  and,  in  short,  keep  the 
transaction  between  ourselves  absolutely  quiet.  If 
you'll  inquire  of  Mr.  Kellogg  he'll  tell  you  I  can 
be  trusted  to  keep  my  word.  Furthermore  " — 
he  galloped,  suspecting  that  his  time  was  peril- 
ously short  and  desiring  to  get  it  all  out  of  his 
system — "  I'll  guarantee  you  repayment  within  a 
year,  and  that  you  shan't  be  annoyed  this  way  a 
second  time." 

Bohun  looked  him  over  from  head  to  foot, 
bowed  in  silence,  and  turning — both  had  stood 
throughout  this  passage — grasped  a  bell-rope  by 
the  chimney,  and  pulled  it  violently. 

Duncan  turned  to  the  door,  hat  in  hand,  real- 
ising that  he  had  his  answer  and  was  lucky  to  get 
away  with  one  so  mild.  Only  the  emergency  could 
have  spurred  him  to  the  point  of  so  outrageous  an 
impertinence. 

In  the  desolate  fastnesses  of  that  dreary  house 
somewhere  a  bell  tinkled  discordantly.  A  mo- 
ment later  the  white-headed  darky  butler  opened 
the  door. 

"Suh?"  he  said. 

Colonel   Bohun   essayed  to   speak,   cleared  his 


262  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

throat  angrily,  and  indicated  Duncan  with  a  cour- 
teous gesture. 

"  Scipio,"  said  he,  "  this  gentleman  will  have  a 
glass  of  wine  with  me." 

"  Yassuh !  "  stammered  the  negro,  overcome 
with  astonishment. 

Bohun  turned  to  his  guest.  "Won't  you  be 
seated,  Mr.  Duncan?"  he  said.  "You  have  in- 
terested me  considerably,  sir,  and  I  should  be  glad 
to  discuss  the  matter  with  you." 

Speechless,  Duncan  gasped  incoherently  and 
moved  toward  a  chair  as  the  servant  reappeared 
with  a  tray  on  which  was  a  decanter  of  sherry 
and  two  old-fashioned,  thin-stemmed  crystal 
glasses.  He  placed  this  on  the  library  table,  filled 
the  glasses,  and  at  a  sign  from  Bohun  retired. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  colonel,  indicating  the  tray,  "  to 
you." 

"  I — I  thank  you,  sir."  Duncan  lifted  one  of 
the  glasses.  Bohun  took  up  the  one  remaining, 
and  held  it  toward  his  guest  with  the  gracious 
gesture  of  a  bygone  day. 

"  I  hold  it  a  privilege,  sir,"  he  said,  "  to  drink 
to  the  only  gentleman  of  spirit  it's  been  my  good 
fortune  to  meet  this  many  a  year." 

By  way  of  an  aside,  it  should  be  mentioned  that 
this  was  the  first  and  only  drink  Duncan  took 
while  he  lived  in  Radville. 


XVII 

TRACEY'S  TROUBLES 

PROBABLY  nothing  ever  gave  rise  to  more  com- 
ment In  Radville  than  Betty  Graham's  departure 
to  spend  the  winter  at  a  boarding-school  near 
'Philadelphia.  Hardly  anyone  knew  anything 
about  it — in  fact,  the  rumour  of  it  was  just  being 
noised  about  and  contemptuously  discredited  on 
all  hands — when  Tracey  galloped  down  Main 
Street  Monday  morning  with  the  news  that  she 
had  left  on  the  early  train.  He  himself  had  re- 
mained in  ignorance  of  the  impending  event  until 
requested  to  carry  Betty's  bag  down  to  the  sta- 
tion. .  .  . 

She  left  under  convoy  of  a  certain  Mrs.  Hamil- 
ton, who  lived  in  Philadelphia  and  had  been  visit- 
ing her  cousin,  Mrs.  Will  Bigelow.  Duncan  had 
met  this  lady  at  a  church  sociable  and,  apparently, 
taken  a  liking  to  her;  for  he  prevailed  upon  her, 
via  Sam  Graham  and  Will  Bigelow,  to  see  the  girl 
safely  to  her  school,  after  superintending  the  pur- 
chase of  a  suitable  wardrobe  in  Philadelphia. 

So  Betty  was  gone — herself,  I  believe,  no  less 
surprised  and  incredulous  than  the  rest  of  us. 

Radville  was  at  first  stupefied,  then  clamorous; 
263 


264  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

but  there  was  little  information  to  be  got  out  of 
old  Sam.  I  found  him  busy  working  on  his  new 
model  and  much  preoccupied  with  that.  When 
interrogated  and  given  to  understand  that  I  would 
not  be  put  off,  he  roused  a  bit,  but  beyond  being 
unquestionably  a  very  happy  man,  seemed  himself 
slightly  dazed  by  the  amazing  circumstances.  I 
learned  from  him  that  Nat  had  evidently  made 
all  his  plans  in  advance,  but  had  withheld  his  an- 
nouncement of  them  until  the  Saturday  prior  to 
that  Monday;  and  then  he  had  fairly  whirled 
Betty  and  her  father  off  their  feet  and  left  them 
no  time  to  think  or  to  raise  objections. 

"  There's  no  use  at  all  arguing  with  that  boy," 
Sam  told  me,  with  the  fond  smile  that  I  was  be- 
ginning to  recognise  as  the  invariable  accompani- 
ment of  his  thoughts  about  Nat;  "  when  he  says  a 
thing  must  be,  it  must.  When  he  first  came  here 
I  told  him  he  was  a  wonderful  business  man,  and 
he  laughed  at  me,  but  now  I  know  he  is.  Why, 
he  gave  Betty  a  hundred  dollars  to  buy  clothes 
with  in  Philadelphia,  and  said  he'd  have  more  for 
her  by  Christmas,  besides  paying  all  the  expenses 
of  that  school — which  must  be  considerable.  I 
don't  see  how  the  store's  going  to  stand  the  strain 
— though  it's  doing  splendidly  since  he  came  in, 
splendidly! — but  he  says  it's  all  right,  and  so  it 
must  be.  .  .  ." 

Duncan  himself  refused  to  be  interviewed.    He 


TRACEY'S   TROUBLES  265 

told  everybody  who  had  the  impudence  to  men- 
tion the  matter  to  him,  that  it  was  Mr.  Graham's 
affair:  Mr.  Graham  was  a  substantial  business 
man,  he  said,  and  if  he  chose  to  send  his  daughter 
away  to  school  he  had  a  perfect  right  to  do  so.  I 
don't  believe  even  Josie  Lockwood  got  more  than 
that  out  of  him,  for  if  she  had  we  would  have 
heard  of  it;  and  Josie  was  unmistakably  a  little 
jealous,  and  undoubtedly  questioned  Nat. 

One  direct  result  of  it  all  was  to  hasten  Josie's 
own  leave-taking.  It  would  never  do  to  let  the 
Grahams  eclipse  the  Lockwoods,  you  see.  Josie 
had  been  talking  of  going  to  a  school  in  Mary- 
land, but  Betty's  move  to  a  fashionable  centre  like 
Philadelphia  made  her  change  her  mind;  and  ar- 
rangements were  made  by  which  Josie  was  able 
to  go  Betty  one  better:  a  young  ladies'  seminary 
in  New  York  City  itself  received  Josie.  She  left 
us  bereaved  about  a  week  after  Betty  vanished 
from  our  ken,  but  promised  to  be  back  for  the 
Christmas  holidays — an  announcement  which 
Duncan  received  with  expressions  of  chastened 
joy,  as  he  did  her  promise  to  write  to  him  regu- 
larly, in  return  for  his  covenant  to  respond 
promptly.  .  .  .  Betty,  by  the  way,  had  made 
no  such  arrangement;  but  she  wrote  twice  a  week 
to  old  Sam,  and  I  understand  she  never  failed  to 
include  a  message  to  Nat. 

Betty  was  happy,  she  protested  in  every  com- 


266  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

munication,  and  wholly  content.  She  was  getting 
along.  The  other  girls  liked  her  and  she  liked 
them  (these  statements  being  made  in  the  order 
of  their  relative  importance).  Lots  of  them,  of 
course,  were  frightfully  swell  (Betty  annexed 
"  frightfully  "  at  school,  by  the  by)  and  had  all 
sorts  of  clothes;  but  Betty  was  perfectly  content 
with  her  modest  outfit,  and  none  of  the  other  girls 
seemed  to  mind  how  she  dressed.  They  were  all 
kind  and  nice,  and  she'd  never  had  such  a  good 
time.  ...  I  quote  these  expressions  from  mem- 
ory of  Sam's  digest  of  her  letters. 

Of  Josie  I  heard  less;  I  know  that  Graham  and 
Duncan's  mail  seldom  lacked  a  personal  communi- 
cation to  Duncan,  postmarked  at  New  York;  our 
postmaster  told  me  so.  But  Duncan  was  reticent, 
and  the  Lockwoods  said  little.  I  gathered  an  im- 
pression that  Josie  was  not  altogether  happy  in 
her  new  surroundings.  .  .  .  One  inferred  there 
was  a  difference  between  New  York  and  Philadel- 
phia, that  one  was  less  friendly  and  sociable  than 
the  other. 

Josie  kept  her  promise  and  came  home  for 
Christmas.  She  was  reticent  as  to  her  impressions 
of  the  New  York  seminary,  but  seemed  extremely 
glad  to  be  home,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that 
Nat  had  apparently  contracted  no  disturbing  alli- 
ances with  the  other  belles  of  our  village.  And 
Roland  remained  true — a  reliable  second  string  to 


TRACEY'S   TROUBLES  267 

Jos,  ^  i  bow.  Roland  was  working  hard  at  the 
bank,  with  an  application  that  earned  Blinky 
Lockwood's  regard  and  outspoken  approbation; 
and  his  Christmas  raiment  proved  the  sensation 
of  the  season.  But  none  of  us  believed  he  had 
any  chance  against  Duncan:  Josie's  attitude  to- 
ward the  latter  was  such  that  we  confidently  antic- 
ipated the  announcement  of  their  engagement  be- 
fore she  went  away  again.  But  it  didn't  come,  for 
some  reason.  We  bore  up  under  the  disappoint- 
ment bravely,  all  things  considered,  sustained  by 
a  very  secure  feeling  that  the  proclamation; 
couldn't  be  long  deferred. 

In  passing,  I  should  mention  that  Betty  didn't 
come  home  once  throughout  the  entire  school 
term.  The  Christmas  and  Easter  holidays  she 
spent  with  a  girl  friend  at  her  Philadelphia 
home. 

Meanwhile,  life  in  our  town  simmered  gently. 
Things  went  on  much  as  they  might  have  been 
expected  to.  I  don't  recall  much  essential  to  this 
narrative,  in  the  way  of  events;  and  part  of  the 
ground  I've  covered  on  earlier  pages.  Duncan 
continued  to  make  progress:  for  one  thing,  I  re- 
call that  he  put  in  hot  soda  with  whipped  cream, 
which  helped  a  lot  to  hold  the  trade  regained  in 
the  summer  from  Sothern  and  Lee.  And  he 
bought  a  new  soda  fountain,  a  very  magnificent 
affair,  installing  it  in  the  early  spring.  Graham 


268  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

and  Duncan's,  in  short,  became  a  town  institution: 
to  it  Radville  pointed  with  pride.  .  .  . 

He  remained  reserved,  retiring,  inconspicuous, 
and  puzzling  to  our  understanding.  In  his  effort 
(never  very  successful)  to  strike  off  the  shackles 
of  modern  slang,  he  fell  into  a  way  of  speech  that 
bewildered  those  unable  to  realise  what  an  abiding 
sense  of  humour  underlay  it — as  water  runs  be- 
neath ice — more,  I  think,  a  matter  of  intonation 
and  significant  silences,  than  a  mere  play  upon 
words  and  phrases;  which,  coupled  with  an 
unshakable  sobriety  of  demeanour,  furnished  us 
with  wonder  and  some  admiration,  but  no  resent- 
ment. We  liked  him  pretty  well  and  mostly  unan- 
imously: he  was  a  good  fellow,  if  queer;  entitled 
to  his  idiosyncrasy,  if  he  chose  to  keep  one.  .  .  . 

There  was  a  certain  night,  by  way  of  illustra- 
tion— a  bitter  night,  along  toward  the  first  of 
January — when  trade  was  dull,  as  it  always  is 
after  Christmas,  and  there  was  nobody  in  the 
store  save  Nat  and  Tracey.  Each  had  their  task, 
whatever  it  may  have  been,  and  each  was  busied 
with  it,  but  of  the  two  Tracey  seemed  the  more 
restless.  His  ample,  if  low,  forehead  was  decid- 
edly corrugated;  his  always  rosy  face  owned  an 
added  trace  of  scarlet — a  flush  of  perturbation; 
his  chubby  hands  were  inexpert,  clumsy.  He  stum- 
bled, fumbled,  forgot  and  (in  our  homely  phrase) 
flummoxed  generally;  his  mind  was  elsewhere,  and 


TRACEY'S   TROUBLES  269 

his  hands  and  feet  went  anywhere  but  where  they 
should  have  gone:  a  condition  which  eventually 
excited  Duncan's  attention. 

He  broke  a  long  silence  in  the  store.  "  What's 
the  trouble,  Tracey?  " 

Tracey  pulled  up  with  a  stare  of  confusion.  "  I 
— I  dunno,  Mr.  Duncan;  I  was  thinkin',  I  guess." 

"  Anything  gone  wrong?  " 

"  Not  yet."  Niobe  would  have  made  the  re- 
sponse with  a  greater  show  of  cheer. 

Duncan  looked  up  curiously,  struck  by  the  boy's 
tone.  "  Somebody  been  demonstrating  that  your 
doll's  stuffed  with  sawdust,  Tracey?" 

"  No-o,  but   .    .    ." 

"Well?" 

"  Say,  Mr.  Duncan "  Tracey's  confusion 

became  terrific. 

"  Say  on,  Mr.  Tanner." 

The  interjection  diverted  Tracey's  train  of 
thought  to  an  inconsiderable  siding.  "  I  only 
called  you  Mr.  Duncan,"  he  said,  aggrieved, 
"  'cause  you're  my  boss." 

"  That's  a  poor  excuse,  Tracey.  You  call  Mr. 
Graham  *  Sam,'  and  he's  likewise  your  boss." 

"  I  know.    But  it's  diff'runt." 

"  I  don't  see  it.  Even  Nats  have  their  place  in 
the  cosmic  system,  Tracey." 

"  I  dunno  what  that  is,  but  you  ain't  like  Sam." 

"The  loss  is  mine,  Tracey.     Proceed." 


270  THE  FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"  But,  Mr.  Duncan    .    .    ." 

"  I  beg  of  you,  speak  to  me  as  to  a  friend." 

Tracey  struggled  perceptibly.  The  words,  when 
they  came,  were  blurted.  "  Ah  ...  I  was  only 
thinkin'  'bout  Angle." 

"  Do  you  ever  think  about  anything  else?  " 

"No,"  Tracey  admitted  honestly,  "not  much. 
But  I  was  wonderin' " 

"Well?" 

"Are  you  stuck  on  Angie,  Mr.  Duncan?"  de- 
manded Tracey  desperately. 

"Great  snakes!  I  hope  not!"  Duncan  cast 
an  anxious  glance  about  him,  and  discovered  the 
poster  depicting  the  gentleman  in  strange  attire 
vainly  endeavouring  to  free  his  overcoat  (I  be- 
lieve it's  his  overcoat)  from  the  bench  upon 
which  a  pot  of  glue  has  been  spilled.  He  lifted  a 
reverent  hand  to  the  card.  "Tracey,"  he  said 
solemnly,  "  I  swear  to  you  that  not  even  that  in- 
dispensable article  of  commerce  could  stick  me  on 
Angie." 

The  boy  sighed.  "  Thank  you,  Mr.  Duncan. 
I  was  only  worryin'  because  you  and  Angie  is 
singin'  together  in  the  choir,  now  Josie  Lockwood's 
gone  to  school,  an' — an'  Angie's  the  purtiest  girl 
in  town — and  I  was  'fraid  't  you  might  like  her 
best,  when  Josie's  away.  An'  I  wanted  to  ask  you 
to  pick  out  s'mother  girl." 

Duncan  chuckled  silently.     "  Tracey,"  he  said 


TRACEY'S   TROUBLES  271 

presently,  "  it  strikes  me  you  must  be  in  love  with 
Angle." 

The  boy  gulped.    "  I— I  am." 

"  And  I  think  she's  rather  partial  to  you." 

"Do  you,  really,  Mr.  Duncan?" 

"  I  do.    Do  you  want  to  marry  her?  " 

"Gee!  I  can't  hardly  wait  I  .  .  .  Only," 
Tracey  continued,  disconsolate,  "  it  ain't  no  use, 
really.  She's  so  purty  and  swell  and  old  man 
Tuthill's  so  rich — not  like  the  Lockwoods,  but 
rich,  all  the  samee — an'  I'm  only  the  son  of  the 
livery-stable  man,  an'  fat  an' — all  that — an' " 

"Nonsense,  Tracey!"  Nat  interrupted  firmly. 
"  If  you  really  want  her  and  will  follow  the  rules 
I  give  you,  it's  a  cinch." 

"Honest,  Mr.  Duncan?" 

"  I  guarantee  it,  Tracey.  Listen  to  me  .  .  ." 
And  Duncan  expounded  Kellogg' s  rules  at  length, 
adapting  them  to  Tracey's  circumstances,  of 
course;  and  throughout  maintained  the  gravity  of 
a  graven  image.  "  You  try,  and  you'll,  see  if  I'm 
not  right,"  he  concluded. 

"  Gosh !  I  b'lieve  you  are !  "  Tracey  cried  ad- 
miringly. "  I'm  just  going  to  see  how  it  works." 

"  Do,  if  you'd  favour  me,  Tracey." 

Tracey  was  quiet  for  a  time,  working  with  the 
regularity  of  a  mind  relieved.  But  presently  he 
felt  unable  to  contain  himself.  Gratitude  surged 
in  his  bosom,  and  he  had  to  speak. 


272  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"  Sa-y,  lis'en.    .    .    ." 

"  Proceed,  Tracey." 

"  Say,  Mist — Nat,  you've  treated  me  somethin' 
immense." 

"  Your  mistake,  Tracey.  I  haven't  treated  any- 
body since  I've  been  here:  I'm  on  the  wagon." 

"  I  mean  just  now,  when  we  was  talkin'  'bout 
me  an'  Angie.  I'd — I'd  like  to  help  you  the  same 
way,  if  I  could." 

"You  would?"  Duncan  eyed  the  boy  appre- 
hensively, wondering  what  was  coming. 

"  Yes,  indeedy,  I  would.  An'  p'rhaps  I  kin  tell 
you  somethin'  that  will." 

"  Speak,  I  beg." 

"  You — er — you're  tryin'  to  court  Josie  Lock- 
wood,  ain't  you?  " 

"  Oh !  "  said  Nat.  "  So  that  was  it !  That's  a 
secret,  Tracey,"  he  averred. 

"  All  right.     Only,  if  you  are,  she's  your'n." 

"  Just  how  do  you  figure  that  out?  " 

"  Oh,  I  kin  tell.  She  was  in  here  to-night  with 
Roland." 

"To-night?" 

"  Yes,  just  afore  you  come  home  from  prayer- 
meetin'.  She  was  lookin'  for  you,  and  when  she 
seen  you  wasn't  here,  she  wouldn't  wait  for  no 
soda  nor  nothin'.  Said  she  had  a  headache  an' 
was  goin'  home.  Roland  went  with  her,  but  she 


TRACEY'S   TROUBLES  273 

didn't  want  him  to.  You  just  missed  seein' 
her." 

"  Heavens,  what  a  blow!  " 

"  But  Roland's  takin'  her  home  needn't  upset 
you  none." 

"  Thank  you  for  those  kind  words,  Tracey." 
Nat  sighed  and  passed  a  troubled  hand  across  his 
brow.  "  You're  a  true  friend." 

"  I'm  tryin'  to  be,  Nat,  same's  you  are  to  me." 
Tracey  thought  this  over.  "  But  you  ain't  foolin' 
me,  are  you?"  he  asked  presently.  "I  mean 
'bout  bein'  a  true  friend?" 

"Why  should  I?" 

"  Ah,  I  dunno.  You're  so  cur'us,  sometimes.  I 
ain't  never  sure  whether  you  mean  what  you're 
sayin'  or  not." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that." 

"  Well,  I  ain't  the  only  one.  Everybody  in 
town  says  they  don't  understand  you,  half  the 
time." 

Duncan  left  his  counter  and  moved  over  to  that 
at  which  Tracey  was  occupied.  His  face  was  en- 
tirely serious,  his  manner  deeply  sympathetic. 
"Tracey,"  he  said,  dropping  a  hand  on  the  boy's 
shoulder,  "  do  you  know,  nothing  in  life  is  harder 
to  bear  than  not  to  be  understood?  " 

Tracey  wrestled  with  this  for  a  moment,  but  it 
was  beyond  him. 


274  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"  Then  why  the  hell  don't  you  talk  so's  folks 
'11  know  what  it's  about?"  he  demanded  heatedly. 

"  Because  .  .  .  Hm"  Duncan  hesitated, 
with  his  enigmatic  smile.  "Well,  because  the 
rules  don't  require  it." 

"What  d'you  mean  by  that?"  Tracey  ex- 
ploded. 

Nat  couldn't  explain,  so  he  countered  neatly. 
"This  is  one  of  your  Angie  .  .  .  evenings, 
isn't  it,  Tracey?" 

«  Yep,  but " 

"Well,  you  hurry  along.  I'll  close  up  the 
shop." 

Tracey  had  slammed  on  his  hat  and  was  strug- 
gling into  his  overcoat  almost  as  soon  as  the 
words  were  out  of  Nat's  mouth. 

"Kin  I?  "he  cried  excitedly. 

"Yes,"  said  Nat,  watching  the  boy  turn  up 
his  collar  and  button  his  overcoat  to  the  throat, 
"  I  haven't  got  the  heart  to  keep  you." 

"  Ah,  thanks,  Mr.  Duncan." 

"  But,  Tracey    .    .    ." 

The  boy  paused  at  the  door.    "  What?  " 

"  Remember  what  I  told  you.  Don't  you  make 
too  much  love.  Let  Angie  do  that." 

"  Gosh,  that'll  be  the  hardest  rule  of  all  for 
me !  "  A  shadow  clouded  Tracey's  honest  eyes. 
"  But  I  got  to  do  it  that  way,  anyway.  I  can't 


TRACEY'S   TROUBLES  275 

ask  her  to  marry  me  yit.  I  can't  afford  to  get 
married." 

"  It's  a  contrary  world,  Tracey,  a  contrary 
world !  "  sighed  Nat  in  a  tone  of  deepest  melan- 
choly. 

"  What  makes  you  say  that?  You  kin  git  mar- 
ried 's  soon  's  you  want  to." 

"You  think  so,  Tracey?" 

"  All  you  got  to  do's  ask  Josie " 

"  I'm  almost  afraid  you're  right." 

"Why?     Don't  you  want  to  git  married?" 

«  Well  "—Nat  smiled—"  no.  Don't  believe  I 
do.  Not  just  now,  at  any  rate." 

"  Well,  you  don't  have  to  if  you  don't  want  to. 
.  .  .  G'd-night." 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  Nat  told  Tracey's  back.  "  The 
rules  say  so.  If  the  girl  asks  me,  I  must." 

He  grimaced  ruefully  beneath  his  wisp  of  a 
moustache.  "Anyhow,  I've  got  a  few  months 
left  .  ." 


XVIII 

A   BARGAIN   IS   A   BARGAIN 

So  the  winter  wore  away.  .  .  .  And  as  spring 
drew  nigh  upon  our  valley,  Duncan  seemed  to  grow 
perturbed,  even  as  he  had  been  in  the  autumn 
before  Betty  went  away.  He  was  pondering  an- 
other scheme  for  the  betterment  of  the  condition 
of  those  he  cared  for,  and  gave  it  ample  consider- 
ation before  he  broached  it  to  old  Sam,  after 
swearing  him  to  secrecy. 

He  had  to  propose  nothing  more  or  less  than 
an  abandonment  of  the  old  Graham  housekeeping 
quarters  above  the  store  and  a  removal  of  the 
menage  bodily  to  a  vacant  house  on  Beech  Street, 
near  the  store,  which  could  be  rented,  partly 
furnished,  at  a  moderate  rate. 

To  begin  with  (thus  ran  his  argument)  the 
store  itself  was  growing  too  small  for  the  volume 
of  business  it  commanded.  More  room  was 
needed,  both  for  storage  and  laboratory  purposes, 
to  say  nothing  of  accommodation  for  Sam's 
models  and  work-bench.  The  latter  had  already 
been  moved  upstairs  for  the  winter,  the  shed  in 
the  backyard  being  too  cold  to  work  in;  and 
the  laboratory  end  of  the  business  was  grow- 
ing at  such  a  rate  that  it  was  crowding  the  pre- 
276 


A  BARGAIN    IS   A   BARGAIN          277 

scrlption  counter  to  the  wall — so  to  speak.  You 
see,  there  really  wasn't  a  more  clever  analytical 
chemist  in  the  northern  part  of  the  State  than  Sam 
Graham,  and  now  that  the  drug-store  was  be- 
coming an  influence  in  the  neighbourhood  he  was 
receiving  commissions  from  physicians  operating 
in  districts  as  far  as  fifty  miles  away.  So  a  room 
was  needed  for  that  branch  of  the  business  alone. 

Moreover,  a  separate  residence  distinctly  be- 
fitted the  dignity  of  a  man  who  was  at  once  a 
prominent  inventor  and  one  of  Radville's  leading 
merchants  (vide  a  "Personal"  in  the  late  issue 
of  the  Radville  Citizen),  to  say  nothing  of  the 
social  position  of  his  daughter — meaning  Betty. 
And  the  house  Duncan  had  his  metaphorical  eye 
upon  was  large  enough  to  shelter  Nat  himself 
in  addition  to  the  Graham  family.  Thus  they 
might  pool  their  living  expenses  to  the  economical 
advantage  of  each. 

Finally,  it  would  be  a  great  and  glad  surprise 
for  Betty  on  her  homecoming. 

Graham  fell  in  with  the  scheme  without  a  mur- 
mur of  dubiety  or  dissent.  Whatever  Nat  proposed 
in  Sam's  understanding  was  right  and  feasible; 
and  even  if  it  wasn't  really  so,  Nat  would  make 
it  so.  ...  They  engaged  the  house  and  moved. 
Miss  Ann  Sophronsiba  Whitmarsh,  a  maiden  lady 
of  forty-five  or  thereabouts,  popularly  known  as 
"  Phrony,"  had  been  coming  in  by  the  day  to  "do 


278  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

for"  old  Sam  in  the  rooms  above  the  shop.  She 
was  engaged  as  resident  housekeeper  for  the  new 
establishment,  and  entered  upon  her  duties  with 
all  the  discreet  joy  of  one  whose  maternal  in- 
stincts have  been  suppressed  throughout  her  life. 
She  mothered  Sam  and  she  mothered  Nat  and  she 
panted  in  expectation  of  the  day  when  she  would 
have  Betty  to  mother.  Incidentally,  she  was  one 
of  the  best  housekeepers  in  Radville,  and  co- 
operated with  all  her  heart  with  Nat  in  the  task 
of  making  a  home  out  of  the  new  house.  They 
arranged  and  disarranged  and  rearranged  and 
discarded  old  furniture  and  bought  new  with  al- 
most the  abandon  of  a  newly  married  couple  fit- 
ting out  their  first  home.  ...  It  was  surprising 
what  they  managed  to  accomplish  with  it;  when 
they  were  finished,  there  wasn't  a  prettier  nor  a 
more  home-like  residence  in  all  Radville — and 
Phrony  Whitmarsh  was  Nat's  slave,  even  as  Miss 
Carpenter  had  been.  She  gave  him  all  the  credit 
for  everything  praiseworthy  about  the  place:  and 
with  some  reason;  for,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had 
spared  himself  not  at  all  in  the  business  of  schem- 
ing and  contriving  to  make  the  new  home  suitable 
for  the  reception  of  Betty  Graham.  .  .  . 

It's  interesting  when  one  has  come  to  my  time 
of  life,  to  sit  and  speculate  on  the  singular  mental 
blindness  of  mortal  man,  such  as  that  which  kept 
Nat  unaware  of  the  real,  rock-bottom  reason  why 


A   BARGAIN    IS    A   BARGAIN  279 

he  was  working  so  hard  on  the  Beech  Street  house. 
I  daresay  the  young  idiot  thought  his  motives  as 
much  selfish  as  anything  else — told  himself  that 
he  wanted  a  comfortable  home — and  this  was  his 
way  of  securing  one — and  all  that  rot.  At  all 
events,  he  told  me  as  much,  quite  seriously — 
seemed  to  believe  it  himself;  and  this,  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  Miss  Carpenter  had  done  everything 
imaginable  to  make  him  comfortable.  . 

Josie  Lockwod  came  home  again  for  the  Easter 
holidays,  but  didn't  return  to  finish  her  term  in 
the  New  York  school.  Just  why,  we  never  dis- 
covered: the  Lockwoods  furnished  us  with  no 
really  satisfying  explanation;  they  said  that  Josie 
didn't  like  New  York,  but  I've  always  doubted 
that,  especially  since  Josie  married  and  insisted 
on  moving  straightway  to  that  metropolis.  I  sus- 
pect she  didn't  get  along  with  the  class  of  young 
women  with  whom  she  was  thrown  at  school, 
and  I'm  pretty  certain  she  was  uneasy  about  Nat 
all  the  time  she  was  so  far  away  from  him.  Any- 
way, she  elected  to  remain  in  Radville  and  keep  the 
young  man  dancing  attendance  on  her  day  in  and 
out.  Which  he  did,  as  in  duty  bound;  he  liked 
the  game  less  and  less  all  the  time,  but  Kellogg 
held  his  promise.  .  .  . 

It  was  during  this  period,  between  the  Easter 
vacation  and  the  end  of  the  spring  school  term, 
that  Roland  Barnette's  animosity  toward  Duncan 


280  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

became  virulent.  Looking  back,  I  can  recall  the 
symptoms  of  his  waxing  hostility — as,  for  in- 
stance, the  evening  he  spent  in  the  Citizen  office, 
poring  over  back  files  of  our  exchanges.  That 
seemed  innocent  enough  at  the  time,  a  harmless 
freak  on  the  part  of  the  young  man,  and  no  one 
paid  much  attention  to  it;  but  it  led  to  great 
things,  in  the  end,  and  incidentally  did  Duncan  a 
service  which  probably  could  have  been  accom- 
plished through  no  other  agency.  This,  however, 
is  something  that  Roland  doesn't  realise  to  this 
day;  and  I'm  inclined  to  doubt  if  you  could  ever 
make  him  understand  it. 

Josie,  of  course,  was  prompt  to  oust  Angle  Tut- 
hill  from  her  place  in  the  choir.  After  that  she 
sang  with  Nat  on  Friday  nights  as  well  as 
Wednesdays  and  twice  per  Sunday.  Between 
whiles  she  was  a  pretty  constant  patron  of  the 
store.  There  was  no  longer  the  least  doubt  in  the 
collective  mind  of  the  town  as  to  the  inclination  of 
Josie's  affections.  Nat  himself  gave  evidence  of 
his  appreciation  of  the  gravity  of  the  situation, 
managing  by  some  admirable  diplomacy  to  evade 
the  issue  until  the  very  last  moment.  But  with 
the  three — Roland,  Nat,  and  Josie — so  involved, 
we  sensed  a  storm  below  the  horizon,  and  awaited 
its  breaking,  if  not  with  avidity,  at  least  with 
quickened  apprehension. 

The  culmination  came  the  day  before  Betty  was 


A   BARGAIN    IS   A  BARGAIN          281 

to  return — a  day  late  in  May,  I  remember,  and  a 
Friday  at  that. 

It  began  along  toward  evening.  Duncan,  alone 
in  the  store,  was  busy  behind  the  prescription 
counter.  The  day  had  been  humid,  warm  and 
sultry,  and  the  doors  and  windows  were  open. 
The  air  was  bland  and  still,  and  sound  travelled 
easily.  He  could  hear  the  musical  clanking  of 
hammers  in  Badger's  smithy,  on  the  next  block, 
the  deep-throated  hoot-toot  of  the  late  afternoon 
train  as  it  rushed  down  the  valley,  sounds  of  fierce 
altercation  from  the  home  of  Pete  Willing  near 
by,  a  boy  rattling  a  stick  along  palings  down  on 
Main  Street.  .  .  .  But  he  did  not  hear  anybody 
enter  the  store :  absorbed  with  his  task,  he  thought 
himself  quite  alone  until  a  well-kenned  voice 
reached  his  ear. 

"  Well !  "  it  said,  unctuous  with  appreciation  of 
the  sight  of  him.  "  Old  Doctor  Duncan !  " 

He  let  the  pestle  fall  from  his  hand  and  jumped 
as  if  he  had  been  stuck  with  a  pin.  His  jaw 
dropped  and  his  eyes  bulged.  "  Great  Scott !  "  he 
cried;  and  in  a  twinkling  was  round  the  counter, 
throwing  himself  into  the  arms  of  a  man  whom 
he  hailed  ecstatically:  "Harry,  by  all  that's 
wonderful ! "  He  fairly  danced  with  delight. 
"  Henry  Kellogg,  Es-quire ! "  he  cried,  holding 
him  at  arms'  length  and  looking  him  over. 
"What  in  thunderation  are  you  doing  here?  " 


282  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Kellogg  freed  himself,  only  to  seize  both  Nat's 
hands  and  squeeze  them  violently.  "  Wanted  to 
see  you,"  he  replied,  beaming.  "  On  my  way  to 
Cincinnati  on  business — thought  I'd  drop  off  for 
a  night  and  size  you  up.  My,  but  it's  good  to 
get  a  look  at  you !  How  are  you?  " 

"  Me?  Look  at  me — picture  of  health.  Harry, 
you've  made  a  new  man  of  me."  Duncan  pranced 
round  his  friend  in  a  mild  frenzy.  "  No  booze — 
no  smokes — no  swears — work!  I  feel  like  a  two- 
year-old:  I  could  do  a  Marathon  without  turning 
a  hair.  Watch  me  kick  up  my  heels  and  neigh !  " 
He  paused  for  breath.  "  And  you?  " 

"  Fine  as  silk — but  you've  got  it  on  me,  Nat, 
physically.  You're  a  sight  to  heal  the  blind." 

"And  listen!  "  Nat  crowed:  "  I'm  a  business 
man.  Didn't  you  believe  it?  Pipe  my  shop!" 

Kellogg  checked  to  obey  the  admonition  of 
Duncan's  gesticulations,  and  took  a  long  look 
round  the  store.  "  Gad!  "  said  he.  "  I'm  blowed 
if  it  isn't  true !  It  was  hard  to  credit  your  letters. 
But  it's  great,  old  man.  I  congratulate  you,  with 
all  my  heart." 

"  Just  wait  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  But 
first  tell  me  how  long  you're  going  to  be  here." 

"Well,  I  plan  to  hang  around  with  you  a 
couple  of  days.  My  business  in  the  West  isn't 
pressing." 

"Good!" 


A  BARGAIN    IS   A   BARGAIN          283 

"  Which  is  the  least  worst  hotel?  " 

"There  ain't  no  such  thing  in  the  whole  giddy 
town.  .  .  .  No,  none  of  that  hotel  stuff,  now! 
I'm  going  to  put  you  up — and  I'll  do  it  in  style, 
too.  I  wrote  you  about  taking  a  new  place  for 
the  Grahams?  " 

"  Yes,  and  I'm  mighty  keen  to  meet  'em.  The 
girl  here?" 

"Betty?  No;  she's  coming  home  to-morrow. 
But  Graham  himself  is  upstairs  in  the  laboratory. 
Take  you  up  in  a  minute,  but  not  before  I've  had 
a  good  look  at  you." 

Kellogg  found  himself  a  chair.  "  Well,"  he  in- 
quired,  twinkling,  "  how's  the  scheme  working 
out?  Are  you  really  living  up  to  all  the  rules?  " 

"  Every  singletary  one." 

"  You  have  got  a  strong  constitution.  .  .  . 
Even  prayer-meetings  ?  " 

"The  church  thing?  Honest,  Harry,  I  own 
it." 

"  Bully  for  you,  Nat.  But  how  does  it  work? 
Was  I  right?" 

"  I  should  say  you  were.  It's  so  easy  it's  a 
shame  to  do  it.  If  this  thing  ever  should  get  into 
the  papers  there'd  be  a  swarm  of  city  men  lighting 
out  for  the  Rube  centres  so  thick  you  wouldn't  be 
able  to  see  the  sky." 

"  I  knew  it !  Trust  your  Uncle  Harry."  Kel- 
logg waited  a  time  for  further  particulars,  but 


284  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Duncan  seemed  stuck;  his  transports  of  the  few 
minutes  just  gone  were  sensibly  abated;  and  the 
sidelong  look  he  gave  Kellogg  was  both  uneasy 
and  rueful — apprehensive,  indeed.  So  Kellogg 
had  to  pump  for  news.  "And  you've  made  a 
strong  play  for  the  fond  affections  of  Lockwood's 
daughter?" 

"Certainly  not!  " 

"Not—?" 

"  You  forget  your  rules."  Nat  grinned,  whim- 
sical. "  I  let  her  to  make  a  play  for  me." 

"  Of  course.  My  mistake.  .  .  .  But  how  has 
it  worked?" 

"  Oh!  immense."  Duncan's  tone,  however,  was 
wholly  destitute  of  enthusiasm.  He  stuck  his 
hands  in  his  trousers'  pockets  and  half  turned 
away  from  his  friend,  looking  out  of  the  window. 

Kellogg  smiled  secretly.  "You  mean  you've 
won  her  already?  " 

"  Oh,  there's  nothing  to  it,"  said  Duncan,  shak- 
ing his  head  and  meaning  just  the  exact  opposite 
of  what  his  words  conveyed,  for  of  such  is  our 
modern  slang. 

"  Then  you're  engaged?  "  Kellogg  had  under- 
stood perfectly,  you  see. 

"  No,  not  yet.  I've  got  two  months  left — al- 
most." 

"  So  you  have.  And  since  she's  so  strong  for 
you,  there's  no  hurry:  let  her  take  her  time." 


A  BARGAIN    IS   A   BARGAIN          285 

"  I  only  wish  she  would."  Duncan  removed 
one  hand  from  the  pocket  the  better  to  tug  at  his 
moustache.  "  It's  got  beyond  that — to  the  point 
where  I  have  to  keep  dodging  her." 

"  You  don't  mean  it  1  That's  splendid."  Kel- 
logg got  up  and  slapped  Nat's  shoulder  heartily. 
"  But  don't  overdo  the  dodging.  She  might  get 
her  back  up." 

"  Not  she.  She'd  eat  out  of  my  hand,  if  I'd  let 
her.  You  don't  understand." 

"What's  the  matter,  then?  Aren't  you  strong 
for  her?" 

"  I  wish  I  were." 

"  But  why?    Is  there  another ?  " 

"  No."  Nat  shook  his  head,  honestly  believing 
he  was  telling  the  truth.  "  Only  ...  I  don't 
look  at  things  the  way  I  did  once." 

"  Just  what  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

Nat,  squaring  himself  to  face  Kellogg,  was  very 
serious,  now,  and  troubled.  "  See  here,  Harry," 
he  said:  "  do  you  really  want  me  to  carry  out  the 
rest  of  the  agreement?  " 

"  Most  certainly  I  do.    Why  not?  " 

"  Because  I'm  pretty  well  fixed  here.  The  busi- 
ness is  making  good — and  so  am  I.  It  won't  be 
long  before  I  can  pay  you  back,  with  interest,  as 
we  agreed,  without  having  to  marry  that  poor 
girl  and  .  .  .  and  draw  on  her  money  to  make 
good  to  you." 


286  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"You  ^ant  to  go  back  on  our  agreement?" 
demanded  Kellogg,  with  a  show  of  disappoint- 
ment and  disgust. 

"  Yes  and  no.  I  won't  break  faith  with  you, 
if  you  insist,  but  I'd  give  a  lot  if  you'd  let  me 
off — let  me  pay  back  what  you  advanced  and  cry 
quits.  .  .  .  When  you  outlined  this  scheme  I 
was  down  and  three  times  out — willing  to  take  a 
chance  at  anything,  no  matter  how  contemptible. 
Now  .  .  .  well,  it's  different." 

"  Good  heavens !  You  don't  mean  you'd  be 
willing  to  live  here  ?  " 

Nat  smiled,  but  not  mirthfully.  "  I  don't 
know,"  he  hesitated;  "I'm  afraid  I'm  beginning 
to  like  it." 

"You,  Nat?"  Kellogg's  amazement  was  un- 
feigned. "  You,  ready  to  spend  your  life  here 
slaving  away  in  this  measly  store  ?  " 

Duncan  grunted  indignantly.  "  Hold  on,  now. 
Don't  you  call  this  a  measly  store.  There  isn't  a 
more  complete  drug-store  in  the  State !  " 

"Do  you  hear  that?"  Kellogg  appealed  ve- 
hemently to  the  universe  at  large.  "  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  this  is  Nat  Duncan,  the  fellow  who 
hated  work  so  hard  he  couldn't  earn  a  liv- 
ing? .  .  .  Gad,  I  believe  I've  arrived  just  in 
time!" 

"  In  time  for  what?" 

"  To  save  you  from  yourself,  old  man.    Here's 


A  BARGAIN   IS   A   BARGAIN          287 

the  heiress  you  came  here  to  cop  out,  ready  and 
anxious,  everything  else  coming  your  way  and 
.  .  .  and  you're  more  than  half  inclined  to  back 
out.  .  .  .  You  make  me  tired." 

"  I  suppose  I  must.  But  I  can't  help  it.  I 
can't  make  you  see  how  the  thing  looks  to  me. 
You  know — I've  written  you  all  about  everything 
— what  this  place  has  meant  to  me.  Until  I  came 
here  I  never  realised  it  was  in  me  to  make  good 
at  anything.  But  here  I  have;  I'm  doing  so  well 
that  I'd  actually  have  some  self-respect  if  I  wasn't 
bound  to  play  this  low-down  trick  on  Josie  Lock- 
wood.  I've  worked  and  succeeded  and  been  of 
some  service  to  people  who  were  worth  it " 

"Who?    Sam  Graham?" 

"  He  and  his  daughter " 

"Oh,  his  daughter!" 

"  Now  get  that  foolish  idea  out  of  your  head ; 
there's  nothing  in  it.  Betty's  just  a  simple,  sweet 
little  girl,  who's  had  a  pretty  hard  time  and  never 
a  real  chance  in  life — until  I  managed  to  give 
it  to  her.  And  I'd  feel  pretty  good  about 
that  if  ...  Oh,  there's  no  use  talking  to 
you!" 

"No;  go  on;  you're  very  entertaining."  Kel- 
logg laughed  mockingly. 

"Well,  I  have  tried  to  keep  to  the  terms  of 
our  understanding;  I  singled  out  this  Lockwood 
girl  and  worked  all  the  degrees — didn't  say  much, 


288  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

you  know — no  love-making — just  let  her  catch  me 
looking  sadly  at  her  once  in  a  while  .  .  ." 

"  That's  the  way  to  work  it." 

"  Yes,  that's  the  way,"  Nat  assented  gloomily. 
"  But  the  longer  I  keep  it  up  the  meaner  I  feel 
and  ...  I  wish  you'd  agree  to  call  it  off. 
.  .  .  These  Rubes  at  first  struck  me  as  being 
nothing  but  a  lot  of  jay  freaks,  but  when  I  got 
to  know  them  I  realised  they  were  just  as  human 
as  we  are.  I  like  them  now  and  ...  on  the 
level,  I'm  getting  kind  of  stuck  on  church.  .  .  . 
As  for  work,  why,  I  eat  it  up ! " 

Kellogg  laughed  with  delight.  "  Nat,"  he  cried, 
"  my  poor  crazy  friend,  listen  to  me:  This  work- 
ing and  church-going  and  helping  old  Graham  is 
all  very  noble  and  fine,  and  I'm  glad  you've  done 
it.  This  drug-store  is  a  monument  to  the  business 
ability  that  I  always  knew  was  latent  in  you.  And 
clean  living  hasn't  done  you  any  harm.  .  .  . 
But  now  you're  due  to  come  down  to  earth.  This 
place  pays  you  a  neat  profit.  Well  and  good! 
That's  all  it'll  ever  do.  It's  new  to  you  now  and 
you  like  the  novelty  and  you're  having  the  time 
of  your  life  finding  out  you're  good  for  something. 
But  pretty  soon  it'll  begin  to  stale  on  you,  and 
before  long  you'll  find  yourself  hating  it  and  the 
town — and  then  you'll  be  back  where  you  started. 
Now,  I'm  going  to  hold  you  to  our  bargain  for 
your  own  sake.  If  you're  stuck  on  the  town  and 


A   BARGAIN    IS    A   BARGAIN  289 

the  work  you  can  keep  right  on  just  as  well  after 
you're  married;  but  when  you  do  begin  to  tire  of 
it,  you'll  want  that  fortune  to  fall  back  on  and 
do  what  you  like  with.  Don't  let  this  chance  slip 
— not  on  your  life!  " 

"  But,"  Nat  argued  feebly,  "  think  of  the  injus- 
tice to  the  girl.  From  the  way  I've  behaved  since 
I  struck  this  burg  she  thinks  I'm  closely  related  to 
the  saints." 

"  Very  well,  then;  I'll  concede  a  point.  If  you 
really  think  you're  taking  a  mean  advantage  of 
her,  when  she  proposes  to  you  tell  her  all  about 
yourself — just  the  sort  of  a  chap  you've  been. 
You  needn't  mention  our  agreement,  however. 
Then  if  she  wants  to  drop  you,  I'll  have  nothing 
to  say." 

"  Thank  you  for  nothing,"  said  Duncan  bit- 
terly. "  A  bargain's  a  bargain.  I  gave  you  my 
word  of  honour  I'd  go  through  with  this  thing, 
and  I'll  stick  to  it.  But  I  tell  you  now,  I  don't 
like  it." 

"  Oh,  I  know  how  you  feel,  Nat.  But  I  know 
that  some  day  you'll  come  to  me  and  say:  '  Harry, 
if  you  had  let  me  back  out,  I'd  never  have  forgiven 
you.' " 

"All  right,"  said  Nat  impatiently.  "I  pre- 
sume you  know  best." 

"  You  can  bet  I  do.  And  now  I'd  like  to  meet 
old  Graham." 


290  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"  I'll  take  you  right  up — no,  I  can't.  Here 
comes  a  customer.  But  you  just  go  through  that 
door  and  upstairs;  he'll  be  in  the  laboratory — the 
front  room — and  he  knows  all  about  you.  I'll 
join  you  just  as  soon  as  Tracey  gets  back." 


XIX 

PROVING  THE   PERSPICUITY   OF   MR.   KELLOGG 

A  CUSTOMER  came  and  went,  and  then  Nat  no- 
ticed that  twilight  was  beginning  to  darken  the 
store.  Though  the  hour  wasn't  late  and  the  even- 
ings were  long  at  that  season,  the  windows  faced 
the  east,  and  there  were  huge,  overshadowing 
elms  outside — just  then  heavy  with  luxuriant  foli- 
age ;  so  dusk  was  always  early  in  the  room. 

It  was  one  of  Nat's  axioms  that  a  store,  to  be 
successful,  should  be  always  brilliantly  lighted.  It 
was  a  bit  expensive,  perhaps,  but  in  the  long  run 
it  paid.  For  that  reason  he  installed  electric  light 
as  soon  as  he  felt  the  business  could  afford  it. 

Now  he  moved  to  the  windows  and  switched  on 
the  bulbs  behind  the  huge  glass  jars  filled  with 
tinted  water.  Returning,  he  was  about  to  connect 
up  the  remainder  of  the  illuminating  system,  when 
Josie,  entering,  stayed  him.  Later  he  was  glad  of 
this. 

"Nat   .    .    ." 

He  knew  that  voice.  "Why,  Josie!"  he  ex- 
claimed in  surprise,  swinging  about  to  discover 
her  standing  on  the  threshold — very  dainty  and 
291 


292  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

fetching,  indeed,  in  one  of  the  summery  frocks 
she  had  brought  back  from  New  York. 

She  moved  over  to  him,  holding  out  her  hand. 
He  took  it  with  disguised  reluctance.  "  Where's 
Tracey?"  she  asked  with  a  look  that  first  held 
his  eyes,  then  reviewed  the  store. 

"  This  is  his  afternoon  off,"  Nat  reminded  her. 

"Then  you're  all  alone?"  she  deduced  archly. 

"  Oh,  quite    .    .    ." 

"  I'm  so  glad."  She  sighed  and  dropped  into 
a  chair  by  the  soda-water  counter.  "  I  wanted  to 
see  you — to  talk  to  you  alone." 

He  bit  his  lip  in  his  annoyance,  shivering  with 
a  presentiment.  "What  about,  Josie?" 

"About  Wednesday  night — after  prayer  meet- 
ing. Why  didn't  you  wait  for  me?" 

"Why — ah — I  had  to  get  back  to  the  store, 
you  know — there  were  some  cheques  to  be  made 
out  and  sent  off,  and  I'd  forgotten  them.  Be- 
sides," he  added  on  inspiration,  "you  were  talk- 
ing with  Roland  and  I  didn't  want  to  interrupt 
you." 

"  So  you  left  me  to  go  home  with  him?  " 

"Why,  what  else " 

"  You're  making  me  awful'  unhappy."  Her 
voice  trembled. 

"/,  Josie?" 

"  Yes.  You  knew  I  didn't  want  to  walk  home 
with  Roland." 


PERSPICUITY   OF    MR.    KELLOGG      293 

"  How  could  I  know  that?  " 

"  I  should  think  you  ought  to  know  it,  Nat,  un- 
less you're  blind.  Besides,  I  told  you  once." 

"  True,"  he  fenced  desperately,  "  but  that  was 
a  long  time  ago;  and  how  could  I  be  sure  you 
hadn't  changed  your  mind?  Besides,  you  know, 
I  mustn't  monopolise  you.  If  I  do  .  .  ." 

"Well?  "  she  inquired  sweetly  as  he  paused  on 
the  lip  of  a  break. 

"  Why,  if  I  do— ah " 

"  If  you're  afraid  people  will  talk  about  us,  see- 
ing us  so  much  together,  you  needn't  worry. 
They're  doing  that  now." 

"Why,  Josie!" 

"  Yes,  they  are.  We've  been  going  together  so 
long,  and  then  suddenly  you  don't  seem  to  care 
about — care  to  be  alone  with  me  at  all.  This  is 
the  first  chance  I've  had  to  talk  to  you,  when  there 
wasn't  somebody  else  round,  for  I  don't  know  how 
long.  And  even  now  you  don't  *eem  glad  to  see 
me." 

"  You  should  know  I  am    .    .    ." 

"  You  don't  act  like  it." 

"  It's  so  unexpected,"  he  muttered  wretchedly. 

"  You  didn't  really  think  I  wanted  Roland  Bar- 
nette  to  go  home  with  me  Wednesday  night,  did 
you,  Nat?" 

"  It  seemed  so,  but  ...  that's  all  right 
Why  shouldn't  you?" 


294  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

She  turned  to  him,  trembling  a  little.  "Must 
I  tell  you,  Nat?" 

"  O,  no ! "  he  cried  in  dismay.  "  Phase 
don't !" 

"I  see  I  must,"  she  persisted.  "You're  so 
blind.  It " 

"  Josie,  don't  say  anything  you'll  be  sorry  for," 
he  entreated  wildly. 

"I  can't  help  it:  I've  got  to.  It  was — it  was 
because  I  wanted  to  be  with  you.  .  .  .  There !  " 
she  gasped,  frightened  by  her  own  forwardness. 
"  Now  I've  said  it !  " 

Duncan  grasped  frantically  at  straws.  "  But 
you  don't  really  mean  it,  Josie :  you  know  you 
don't,"  he  floundered.  "  You're  just  saying  that 
because  you — you  have  such  a  kind  heart  and — 
ah — don't  want  to  hurt  me — ah — because " 

She  stemmed  the  flood  of  his  protestations  with 
a  hand  on  his  arm.  "  Nat,"  she  said  gently,  look- 
ing up  into  his  face,  "  would  it  make  you  happy 
to  know  I  really  meant  it?  " 

"Why— ah— why  shouldn't  it,  Josie?" 

"  Then  please  believe  me,  when  I  say  it." 

"  But  I  do  believe  it.  I  .  .  ."  He  stammered 
and  fell  still. 

"  Because  I  do  like  you,  Nat,  very  much,  and — 
and  it's  very  hard  for  me  to  know  that  folks 
think  I'm  pursuing  you  and  that  you're  trying  to 
avoid  me." 


PERSPICUITY  OF   MR.    KELLOGG      295 

"  Josie !  "  he  exclaimed  reproachfully. 

"Well,  that's  the  way  it  looks,"  she  affirmed 
plaintively.  "You  don't  want  it  to,  do  you?" 

"  Why,  no ;  of  course  I  don't." 

"Then  why  don't  you  stop  it?  "  She  watched 
his  face,  her  manner  coy  and  yielding.  "Nat," 
she  said  In  a  softer  voice,  "  if  you  like  me  as  well 
as  I  like  you " 

He  moved  away  a  pace  or  two.  "  Ah,  child !  " 
he  said,  with  a  feeling  that  the  term  was  not  mis- 
applied, somehow,  "  you  don't  know  what  you're 
saying." 

"  Yes,  I  do."  She  pouted.  "  I  don't  believe 
you  .  .  .  care  anything  about  me." 

"  Oh,  Josie,  please— 

"  Well,  anyway,  you've  never  told  me  so."  She 
turned  an  indignant  shoulder  to  him. 

"How  could  I?" 

"Why  couldn't  you?" 

"But  don't  you  see  that  I  shouldn't,  Josie?" 
He  turned  back  to  her  side,  looked  down  at  her, 
pleaded  his  defence  with  the  fire  of  desperation. 
"  Just  think :  you  are  an  only  daughter."  Just 
what  this  had  to  do  with  the  case  was  not  plain 
even  to  him.  "  An  only  daughter,"  he  repeated — 
"  ah — not  only  your  father's  only  daughter,  but 
your  mother's  only  daughter.  Your  father — ah — • 
is  my  friend.  How  unfair  it  would  be  to  him 


296  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

But  the  girl  interrupted  with  decision.  "  But 
papa  wants  you  to  ...  He  told  me  so." 

He  could  only  pretend  not  to  understand.  "  But 
consider,  Josie:  you  are  rich,  an  heiress:  I'm  a 
poor  man.  Would  you  like  it  to  be  said  I  was 
after  your  money?  " 

"  No  one  would  dare  say  such  a  thing,"  she 
asserted  with  profound  conviction. 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  would.  You  don't  know  the 
world  as  I  do.  And  for  all  you  know,  they  might 
be  right.  How  do  you  know  that " 

"  Nat ! "  A  catch  in  her  voice  stopped  him. 
"  Don't  say  such  horrid  things !  I  could  tell :  a 
woman  always  can.  I  know  you  would  be  inca- 
pable of  such  a  thing.  Papa  knows  it,  too.  No 
one  has  ever  got  ahead  of  papa,  and  he  says  you  . 
are  a  fine,  steady,  Christian  man,  and  he  would 
rather  see  me  your  wife  than  any " 

"Josie!" 

The  interjection  was  so  imperative  that  she  was 
silenced.  "Why,  what,  Nat?"  she  asked,  rising. 

"  The  time  has  come,"  he  declared;  "you  must 
know  the  truth." 

"Oh,  Nat!" 

"  I'm  not  what  you  think  me,"  he  continued, 
dramatic. 

"Oh,  Nat!" 

"  Nor  what  your  father  thinks  me,  nor  what 
anybody  else  in  this  town  thinks  me.  I'm  not  a 


PERSPICUITY  OF   MR.    KELLOGG      297 

regular  Christian — it's  all  a  bluff:  I  didn't  know 
anything  about  a  church  till  I  came  here.  I  smoke 
and  I  drink  and  I  swear  and  I  gamble,  and  I 
only  cut  them  all  out  in  order  to  trick  you  into 
caring  for  me !  " 

"  Oh,  Nat,  I  don't  believe  it." 

"  Alas,  Josie !  "  he  protested  violently,  "  it's 
true,  only  too  true !  " 

"  But  you  did  it  to  win  my  love,  Nat?  " 

"  Ye-es."  He  saw  suddenly  that  he  had  made 
a  fatal  mistake. 

"  Then,  Nat,  I  will  be  your  wife  in  spite  of 
all!" 

He  found  himself  suddenly  caught  about  the 
neck  by  the  girl's  arms.  His  head  was  drawn 
down  until  her  cheek  caressed  his  and  he  felt  her 
lips  warm  upon  his  own. 

"  Josie !  "  he  gasped. 

"Nat,  my  darling!  " 

With  a  supreme  effort  he  pulled  himself  to- 
gether and  embraced  the  girl.  "  Josie,"  he  said 
earnestly,  "  I — I'm  going  to  try  to  be  a  good  hus- 
band to  you.  .  .  .  And  that,"  he  concluded, 
sotto  voce,  "  wasn't  in  the  agreement !  " 

She  held  him  to  her  passionately.  "  Dearest, 
I'm  so  glad!" 

"  It  makes  me  very  happy  to  know  you  are, 
Josie,"  he  murmured  miserably.  And  to  himself, 
while  still  she  trembled  in  his  embrace:  "What 


298  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

a  cur  you  are!  .  .  .  But  I  won't  renege  now; 
I'll  play  my  hand  out  on  the  square,  with 
her.  .  .  ." 

Upon  this  tableau  there  came  a  sudden  intru- 
sion. The  back  door  opened  and  Graham  came 
in,  Kellogg  at  his  heels.  It  was  the  voice  of  the 
latter  that  told  the  two  they  were  discovered:  a 
hearty  "Hello!  What's  this?"  that  rang  in 
Nat's  ears  like  the  trump  of  doom. 

In  a  flash  the  girl  disengaged  herself,  and  they 
were  a  yard  apart  by  the  time  that  Graham,  blun- 
dering in  his  surprise,  managed  to  turn  on  the 
lights  at  the  switchboard.  But  even  in  the  full 
glare  of  them  he  seemed  unable  to  credit  his  sight. 
"Why,  Nat!  "  he  quavered,  coming  out  toward 
the  guilty  pair.  "Why,  Nat  ...  I" 

Duncan  took  a  long  breath  and  Josie's  hand  at 
one  and  the  same  time.  "  Mr.  Graham,"  he  said 
coolly,  "  I'm  glad  you're  the  first  to  know  it. 
Josie  has  just  ask — agreed  to  be  my  wife." 

Old  Sam  recovered  sufficiently  to  take  the  girl's 
hand  and  pat  it.  "  I'm  mighty  glad,  my  dear," 
he  told  her.  "  I  congratulate  you  both  with  all 
my  heart." 

"  And  so  will  I,  when  I  have  the  right,"  Kel- 
logg added,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot."  Nat  hastened  to  remedy  his 
oversight.  "  Josie,  this  is  my  dearest  friend,  Mr. 
Kellogg;  Harry,  this  is  Miss  Lockwood." 


PERSPICUITY  OF   MR.   KELLOGG      299 

Josie  gave  Kellogg  her  hand.  "  I — I,"  she  gig- 
gled— "  I'm  pleased  to  meet  you,  I'm  sure." 

"  I'm  charmed.  I've  heard  a  great  deal  of 
you,  Miss  Lockwood,  from  Nat's  letters,  and  I 
shall  hope  to  know  you  much  better  before 
long." 

"  It's  awful'  nice  of  you  to  say  so,  Mr.  Kel- 
logg-" 

"  And,  Nat,  old  man !  "  Kellogg  threw  an  arm 
round  Duncan's  shoulder.  "I  congratulate  you! 
You're  a  lucky  dog!  " 

"  I'm  a  dog,  all  right,"  said  Nat  glumly. 

*•  But  we  mustn't  disturb  these  young  people, 
Mr.  Kellogg,"  Graham  broke  in  nervously. 
"  They'll — they'll  have  a  lot  to  say  to  one  an- 
other, I'm  sure;  so  we'll  just  run  along.  I'm  tak- 
ing Mr.  Kellogg  up  to  the  house,  Nat.  You'll 
follow  us  as  soon  as  you  can,  won't  you?" 

"  Yes— sure." 

"  I've  got  some  news  for  you,  too,  that'll  make 
you  happy." 

"Never  mind  about  that;  it'll  keep  till  supper, 
Mr.  Graham."  Kellogg  laughed,  taking  the  old 
man's  arm.  "  Good-bye,  both  of  you — good-bye 
for  a  little  while." 

"Good-bye    .    .    ." 

"  Wasn't  that  terrible !  "  Josie  turned  back  to 
Nat  when  they  were  alone.  "  I  think  it  was  real 
mean  of  Mr.  Graham  to  turn  on  all  the  lights 


300  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

that  way,"  she  simpered.  "  Somebody  else  might 
Ve  seen." 

"Yes,"  agreed  the  young  man,  half  distracted; 
"  but  of  course  I  daren't  turn  them  off  again." 

"  Never  mind.  We  can  wait."  Josie  blushed. 
"  I'll  just  sit  here  and  wait — we  can  talk  till 
Tracey  comes,  and  then  you  can  walk  home  with 
me." 

"Yes,  that'll  be  nice,"  he  agreed,  but  without 
absolute  ecstasy. 

Fortunately  for  him,  in  his  temper  of  that  mo- 
ment, Pete  Willing  reeled  into  the  shop,  two- 
thirds  drunk,  with  his  face  smeared  with  blood 
from  a  cut  on  his  forehead. 

"  'Scuse  me,"  he  muttered  huskily.  "  Kin  I  see 
you  a  minute,  Doc?" 

He  reeled  and  almost  fell — would  have  fallen 
had  not  Duncan  caught  his  arm  and  guided  him 
to  a  chair.  "  Great  Scott,  Pete ! "  he  cried. 
"What's  happened  to  you?" 

"  M'  wife    .    .    ."  Pete  explained  thickly. 


XX 

ROLAND  SHOWS   HIS    HAND 

"  PERHAPS  I'd  better  go."  Josie,  fluttering  with 
alarm  and  a  little  pale,  went  quickly  to  the  door. 

Duncan  followed  her  a  pace  or  two.  "  I  can't 
leave  just  now,"  he  stammered. 

"  I  don't  mind  one  bit.  I  don't  want  to  be  in 
the  way.  I'll  telephone  from  home.  .  .  . 
Good-night,  dearest !  "  On  tiptoes  she  drew  his 
face  down  to  hers  and  kissed  him.  "  I'm  so 
happy  .  .  ." 

Half  dazed,  Nat  stared  after  her  until  her 
lightly  moving  figure  merged  with  the  shadows 
beneath  the  trees  and  was  lost.  Then,  with  a 
sigh,  he  turned  back  to  Pete. 

The  sheriff  had  undoubtedly  suffered  at  the 
hands  of  that  militant  person,  Mrs.  Willing. 
"  Great  Scott !  "  Duncan  exclaimed  as  he  exam- 
ined the  two-inch  gash  in  his  head.  "  That's  a 
bird,  Pete." 

"  M'  wife  done  it,"  Willing  muttered  huskily. 
"  Sh'  threw  side  'r  th'  house  at  me,  I  think." 

"Wife,  eh?"  The  coincidence  smote  Duncan 
with  redoubled  force.  He  shivered  "  Well,  she 
certainly  gave  it  to  you  good."  He  went  behind 
301 


302  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

the  counter  to  prepare  a  dressing  for  the  wound, 
which,  if  wide,  was  neither  deep  nor  serious  and 
gave  him  little  concern  for  Pete. 

The  latter  ruminated  on  the  event,  breathing 
stertorously,  while  Duncan  was  fixing  up  a  wash 
of  peroxide.  "  She'll  kill  me  some  day,"  he  an- 
nounced suddenly,  with  intense  conviction  in  his 
tone. 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that    .    .    ." 

Opposition  roused  Pete  to  a  fury  of  assertion. 
"Yes,  she  will,  sure!"  he  bawled.  Then  his 
emotion  quieted.  "  But  I'd  'bout  as  soon  be 
dead's  live  with  her,  anyway." 

"  Hm"  Nat  got  some  absorbent  cotton  and 
adhesive  plaster.  "  Been  drinking  again,  hadn't 
you?" 

"  Yesh,"  Pete  admitted  with  a  leer  of  drunken 
cunning.  "  But  she  druv  me  to  it."  He  was 
quiet  for  a  moment.  "  Mish'r  Duncan,"  he  vol- 
unteered cheerfully,  "  you  ain't  got  no  idee  how 
lucky  y'are  y'aint  married." 

"Is  that  so?"  Nat  returned  with  the  dress- 
ings. 

"  No  idee  'tall."  Pete  surrendered  his  head  to 
Nat's  ministrations.  "  'Nd  I  hope  y'  won't  never 
have." 

"  But  I'm  going  to  be  married,  Pete." 

The  sheriff  assimilated  this  information  and  be- 
came abruptly  intractable.  He  jerked  his  head 


ROLAND   SHOWS   HIS   HAND         303 

away  and  swung  round  in  his  chair  to  argue  the 
matter. 

"Oh,  no!"  he  expostulated.  "Don't,  Mish'r 
Duncan.  Don't  never  do  it.  Take  warnin'  from 
me." 

"  But  I'm  engaged,  Pete." 

"Maksh  no  diff'runsh— break  it  off."  His 
voice  rose  to  a  howl  of  alarm.  "  F'r  Gaw's  sake, 
break  it  off ! — now,  before  it's  too  late !  Do  any- 
thin'  rather'n  that:  drink — lie — :teal — murder — 
c'mit  suicide — don't  care  what — only  keep  single!" 

"  Here,"  said  Duncan,  laughing,  "  sit  back 
there  and  let  me  'tend  to  your  head."  He  began 
to  wash  the  wound  with  the  peroxide.  "  There : 
that'll  sting  a  bit,  but  not  long.  .  .  .  But  sup- 
pose, Pete,  I'd  get  a  lot  of  money  by  marry- 
ing?" 

"  No  matter  how  mush  y'get,  'tain't  enough!  " 

"  I'm  inclined  to  think  you're  about  right,  Pete." 

"  You  bet  I'm  right.    I'm  married  'nd  I  know" 

Nat  finished  dressing  the  cut,  smoothed  down 
the  ends  of  the  adhesive  tape,  and  stood  back. 
"That's  all  right,  now.  Go  home,  wash  your 
face,  and  sleep  it  off.  Let  me  see  you  sober  in 
the  morning." 

"Huh!"  Pete  chuckled  derisively.  "Ain't 
goin'  home  t'night." 

"  You've  got  to  get  some  sleep :  that's  the  only 
way  for  you  to  straighten  up." 


304  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"  Well,"  agreed  Pete,  rising,  "  then  I'll  go  over 
to  the  barn  'nd  sleep  with  the  horse." 

"Aren't  you  afraid  he'll  step  on  you?"  asked 
Nat,  amused. 

"  Maybe  he  will,"  Pete  replied  fairly,  "  but  I'd 
ruther  risk  that  'n  m'  wife." 

He  swerved  and  lurched  toward  the  door. 
"  Thanks,  doc,  'nd  g'night,"  he  mumbled,  and  in- 
continently collided  with  Roland  Barnette. 

Roland  was  working  under  a  full  head  of  steam, 
apparently;  his  naturally  sanguine  complexion  was 
several  shades  darker  than  the  normal,  and  he 
was  seething  with  repressed  emotion — excitement, 
anticipated  triumph,  jealousy,  envy  and  hatred: 
all  centring  upon  the  hapless  head  of  Nat  Dun- 
can. Plunging  along  with  his  head  down,  his 
thoughts  wholly  preoccupied  with  his  grievance 
and  its  remedy,  he  bumped  into  Willing  and  can- 
noned off,  recognising  him  with  an  angry  growl. 
The  result  of  this  was  to  stay  Pete's  departure ;  he 
grasped  the  frame  of  the  door  and  steadied  him- 
self, glaring  round  at  the  aggressor. 

"  'Lo,  Roland,"  he  said,  focussing  his  vision. 
"Whash  masser?" 

Roland  disregarded  him  entirely.  "  Say,  you !  " 
he  snorted,  catching  sight  of  Nat.  "  I  want  to 
see  you." 

"Oh?"  Nat  drawled  exasperatingly.  He  had 
never  had  much  use  for  Roland,  and  now  with 


ROLAND   SHOWS    HIS    HAND         305 

hidden  joy  he  read  the  signs  of  passion  on  the 
boy's  inflamed  countenance.  Happy  he  would  be, 
thought  Nat,  if  Roland  were  to  be  delivered  into 
his  hands  that  night.  He  owed  the  world  a 
grudge,  just  then,  and  needed  nothing  more  than 
an  object  to  wreak  his  vengeance  upon.  "  Well, 
I'll  stake  you  to  a  good  long  look,"  he  added 
sweetly. 

"  Ah-h !  don't  you  try  to  be  so  funny;  you  might 
get  hurt." 

Pete  seemed  to  be  suddenly  electrified  by  Ro- 
land's matter.  "  Here!  "  he  interposed.  "  Whajuh 
mean  by  that?"  And  relinquishing  his  grasp  on 
the  door,  he  reeled  between  the  two  and  thrust  his 
face  close  to  Roland's.  "  Who're  you  talkin'  to, 
an'way?  "  he  demanded,  truculent. 

Nat  stepped  forward  quickly  and  grabbed 
Pete's  arm.  "  That's  all  right,  Pete,"  he  soothed 
him.  "  Don't  get  nervous.  Roly  won't  hurt  any- 
body." 

The  diminutive  stung  Roland  to  exasperation. 

"Why,  damn  you !"  he  screamed,  and 

promptly  became  inarticulate  with  rage. 

"Ah!  ah!  ah!  "  Nat  wagged  a  reproving  fore- 
finger. "Naughty  word,  Roly!  Careful,  or 
you'll  sour  your  chewing  gum." 

"  Now,  say !     Do  you  think ' 

At  this  juncture  Pete  drowned  his  words  with 
an  incoherent  roar,  having  apparently  reached  the 


306  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

conclusion  that  the  time  had  now  arrived  when 
it  would  be  his  duty  and  pleasure  to  eat  Roland 
alive.  Nat  saved  the  young  man  by  the  barest 
inch;  he  grappled  with  Pete  and  drew  himself 
aside  just  in  time. 

"  Steady,  Pete !  "  he  said  quietly.  "  Steady,  old 
man.  Let  Roland  alone." 

"Awrh,  I  ain't  'fraid  of  him!"  spluttered 
Pete. 

"  Neither  am  I.  Get  out,  won't  you,  and  leave 
him  to  me." 

"  Aw'right."  Pete  became  more  calm.  "  I'll 
leave  him  'lone,  but  all  the  same  I  wan'  it  'stinctly 
un'erstood  I  kin  lick  any  man  in  town  'ceptin'  m' 
wife.  G'night,  everybody." 

He  gathered  himself  together  and  by  a  supreme 
effort  lunged  through  the  door  and  into  the  deep- 
ening dusk. 

"Well,  Roly?"  Nat  asked,  turning  back. 

His  ironic  calm  gave  Roland  pause.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  lost  his  bearings  and  stammered  in  con- 
fusion. "  I  come  in  to  tell  you  that  me  and  you's 
apt  to  have  trouble,"  he  concluded. 

"Oh?    And  are  you  thinking  of  starting  it?" 

"You  bet  I'll  start  it,  and  I'll  start  it  damn' 
quick  if  you  don't  leave  Josie  Lockwood  alone." 

"So  that's  the  trouble,  is  it?"  commented  Nat 
thoughtfully. 

"  Yes,  that's  the  trouble.    From  now  on  I  want 


ROLAND   SHOWS    HIS   HAND         307 

you  to  let  her  alone,  and  you'll  do  it,  too,  if  you 
know  what's  best  for  you." 

A  suggestion  of  menace  in  his  manner,  uncon- 
nected with  any  hint  of  physical  correction,  caught 
Nat's  attention.  He  frowned  over  it. 

"Just  what  do  you  mean  by  this  line  of  talk?  " 
he  inquired  blandly,  stepping  nearer. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  mean."  Roland  clenched 
both  fists  and  thrust  his  chin  out  pugnaciously. 
"I'd  been  a-goin'  steady  with  Josie  Lockwood  for 
more'n  a  year  before  you  come  here  and  thought 
that,  on  account  of  her  money,  you  could  sneak  in 
and  cut  me  out.  .  .  ." 

"  Was  her  money  the  reason  you  were  after 
her,  Roly?" 

"What ?"  The  question  brought  Roland 

momentarily  up  in  the  wind.  "  'Tain't  none  of 
your  business  if  it  was !  "  he  snapped,  recovering. 
"  But  here's  what  I'm  gettin'  at."  He  tapped  his 
breast-pocket  with  a  sneer  of  bucolic  triumph. 
"  Just  about  ten  months  ago,"  he  continued  mean- 
ingly, "they  was  a  cashier  skipped  out  of  the 
Longacre  National  Bank  in  Noo  Yawk,  and  they 
ain't  got  no  track  of  him  yet." 

So  this  was  why  Roland  had  been  so  assiduous 
a  student  of  the  back  files  in  the  Citizen  office ! 

"Indeed?" 

"Yes,  indeed.  I  had  my  suspicions  all  along, 
but  didn't  say  nothin',  but  just  to-day  I  got  a  de- 


3o8  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

scription  of  him,  and  the  description  just  fits,  Mr. 
Mortimer  Henry." 

"Just  fits  Mr.  Mortimer  Henry?  But  what 
has  that — . —  ?  " 

"  Ah,  don't  you  try  to  seem  too  darn'  innocent," 
Roland  snarled.  "  You  can't  fool  me!  " 

A  light  dawned  upon  Nat,  and  laughter  flooded 
his  being,  although  outwardly  he  remained  im- 
perturbable— merely  mildly  curious.  But  his  fin- 
gers were  itching. 

"So  you  think  I'm  the  absconding  cashier,  eh, 
Roly?" 

"You  keep  away  from  Josie  'r  you'll  find  out 
what  I  think."  Nat's  placidity  deceived  Roland, 
who  drew  the  wholly  erroneous  conclusion  that  he 
had  succeeded  in  frightening  his  rival,  and  conse- 
quently dared  a  few  lengths  further  in  his  tirade. 
"  Why,  if  I  was  to  go  to  Mr.  Lockwood  and  tell 
him  you're  Mortimer  Henry,  alias  Nat  Dun- 
can  " 

Duncan's  temper  suddenly  snapped  like  a  taut 
violin  string. 

"  That  will  do,"  he  said  icily.  "  That  will  be 
all  for  this  evening,  thanks." 

"Ah  .  .  .  Are  you  going  to  quit  chasin' 
after  Josie?  " 

"  I'll  begin  chasing  after  you  if  you  don't  clear 
out  of  here." 

"  You  better  agree " 


Betty!" 


ROLAND   SHOWS    HIS    HAND          309 

Just  there  the  storm  burst.  Ten  seconds  later 
Roland,  with  a  confused  impression  of  having 
been  kicked  by  a  mule,  picked  himself  up  out  of 
the  dust  in  the  middle  of  the  street  and  stared 
stupidly  back  at  the  store.  Nat  was  waiting  in 
the  doorway  for  a  renewal  of  hostilities,  if  any 
such  there  were  to  be.  Seeing,  however,  that 
Roland  had  apparently  sated  his  appetite  for  per- 
sonal conflict,  he  picked  up  a  dark  object  at  his 
feet  and  held  it  out. 

"  Here's  your  hat,  Roly,"  he  called. 

Roland  spat  out  a  mouthful  of  dust  and  swore 
beneath  his  breath.  "Throw  it  out  here,"  he 
replied  prudently. 

Tossing  him  the  hat,  Nat  turned  contemptu- 
ously. "  Come  in  again,  any  time  you  want  to 
apologise,"  he  shouted  over  his  shoulder,  as  an 
afterthought. 

He  paused  in  the  middle  of  the  store  and  felt 
of  his  necktie.  It  proved  to  be  a  little  out  of 
place,  but  otherwise  he  was  as  immaculate  as  was 
his  wont.  He  reviewed  the  encounter  and  laughed 
quietly. 

"  There's  no  cure  for  a  fool,"  he  mused.    .    .    . 

The  telephone  bell  roused  him  from  his  reverie. 
He  went  over  to  the  instrument,  sat  down,  and 
put  the  receiver  to  his  ear. 

"Hello?  "he  said.  .  .  .  "  Oh,  hello,  Josie ! 
.  .  .  What's  that?  .  .  .  That's  right,  but 


3io  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

I'm  not  used  to  it  yet,  you  know.  .  .  .  Well, 
I'll  try  again.  Now — ready?" 

He  schooled  his  voice  to  a  key  of  heartrending 
sentiment:  "  Hello,  darling.  .  .  .  How's  that? 
.  .  .  Told  your  father?  Told  him  what?  .  .  . 
Oh,  about  the  engagement!  Was  he  angry? 
.  .  .  Oh,  he  wasn't,  eh?  What  did  he  say? 
.  .  .  Wasn't  that  nice  of  him!  .  .  ." 

Conscious  of  a  slight  noise  in  the  store  he  looked 
up.  A  young  woman  had  just  entered.  She 
paused  just  inside  the  door,  smiling  at  him  a  little 
timidly. 

Without  another  word  to  his  fiancee  Nat  put 
down  the  telephone  and  hooked  up  the  receiver. 

"  Betty!  "  he  cried  wonderingly. 


XXI 

AS   OTHERS   SAW  HIM 

IF  Nat's  cry  of  recognition  had  been  wondering, 
it  was  no  less  one  of  delight.  The  surprise  he  felt 
was  perfectly  natural;  Betty  wasn't  to  have  re- 
turned until  the  morrow,  and  was  therefore  the 
last  person  he  had  expected  to  see  when  he  looked 
up  from  the  telephone  desk.  But  it  was  the 
change  in  the  girl  that  most  stirred  him:  the 
change  he  had  prophesied,  planned  for,  antici- 
pated eagerly  throughout  the  long  seven  months 
of  her  absence;  to  have  his  expectations  so  won- 
derfully fulfilled,  and  more  than  fulfilled,  pleased 
him  beyond  expression.  And  it's  curious  to  specu- 
late upon  the  fact  that  he  fancied  his  greatest 
pleasure  came  from  the  knowledge  that  old  Sam 
would  be  so  overjoyed.  .  .  . 

It  was  really  only  a  paraphrase  of  the  old  story 
of  the  grub  and  the  butterfly.  The  little,  starve- 
ling drudge  who  had  found  him  in  the  store,  that 
first  day,  had  completely  vanished;  it  was  as  if 
she  had  never  been.  In  her  place  he  discovered  a 
girl  all  grace  and  loveliness,  her  slender  figure 
ripening  into  gracious  womanhood;  a  girl  of  mind 
and  heart  and  understanding,  all  fire  and  tender- 
s'* 


312  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

ness;  demure,  intelligent,  with  a  pretty  pose  of  in- 
dependence and  sureness  of  herself  moderated  by 
modesty  and  reserve.  Her  travelling  dress  of  sober 
colouring  and  severe  lines  became  her  bewitch- 
ingly.  Beneath  the  brim  of  her  dainty  hat,  with 
veil  thrown  back,  her  dark  hair  waved  back, 
glossy  with  the  sheen  of  perfect  well-being,  from 
a  face  serenely  charming — the  more  so  for  her 
slightly  deepened  flush;  and  the  eyes  that  shone 
into  Nat's  danced  with  the  light  of  enjoyment, 
bred  of  his  supreme  astonishment.  .  .  . 

"  Nat,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  again!  " 

He  was  speechless. 

She  laughed,  put  down  her  suit-case,  and  moved 
toward  him,  offering  him  both  her  hands.  He 
took  them,  stammering. 

"  It's  such  a  surprise,  Betty !  " 

"  I  knew  it  would  be.  I  just  couldn't  wait, 
Nat,  when  I  found  I  could  get  here  by  the  night 
train  instead  of  to-morrow  morning.  I  haven't 
been  home,  you  know,  but  I  couldn't  resist  the 
temptation  to  stop  in  here  and  see — what  the  store 
looked  like  after  all  these  months.  Besides,  I 

thought  that  you  or  father "  Her  eyes  fell 

and  she  faltered,  withdrawing  her  hands. 

By  now  he  had  himself  in  hand.  "  Why,"  he 
laughed,  "  you  nearly  took  my  breath  away.  Even 
now  I  can  hardly  believe  it  ..." 

"Believe  what,  Nat?"  she  asked  quickly. 


AS   OTHERS    SAW   HIM  313 

"  That  you're  the  same  little  Betty  Graham.  I 
never  saw  such  a  change." 

"It's  a  change  for  the  better,  isn't  it,  Nat?" 
she  asked  with  a  smile  half  wistful. 

"  I  should  think  it  was.     It's  just  marvellous!  " 

"  Did  I  seem  so  very  awful,  then?  " 

"  Nonsense.  You  know  you  didn't,  only, 
now  ..." 

"Then  you  think  father  will  be  pleased?" 

"If  he  isn't,  I'm  blind!" 

She  looked  away,  embarrassed,  and  touched 
by  his  interest  and  his  feeling.  "  And  does  it 
make  you  a  little  proud,  Nat?" 

"  Proud !  "  he  exclaimed  blankly. 

"  Because  you  know  you've  done  it  all.  If 
there's  any  improvement  in  Betty  Graham  to-day, 
it's  because  of  you.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  you 

"Never  in  the  world;  you  don't  know  what 
you're  talking  about,  Betty.  Nobody  but  yourself 
could  have  brought  about  this  change.  It  had  to 
be  in  you  before  it  could  come  out.  You  know 
that." 

She  shook  her  head  very  decidedly,  seating  her- 
self on  one  of  the  chairs  by  the  soda-fountain. 
"  Oh,  no,"  she  contradicted  calmly  and  sincerely. 
"  Why,  Nat,  don't  you  suppose  I  have  any  mem- 
ory? You  began  making  me  a  better  girl  the 
very  first  day  we  met  here  in  the  store,  by  the 
things  you  said  to  me.  And  ever  since  I've  been 


3H  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

watching  you,  while  you  were  making  life  a 
Heaven  for  father  and  me,  and  thinking  that  if  I 
were  a  man  I'd  try  to  be  as  near  like  you  as  I 
could." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,"  he  pleaded  wretchedly. 

"  It's  true.  .  .  .  And  when  you  sent  me 
away  to  school  I  promised  myself  I'd  try  to  repay 
you  for  the  sacrifice  you  must  be  making  for  me; 
that  I'd  follow  your  example  as  nearly  as  ever  I 
could;  that  I'd  work  hard  and  try  to  treat  people 
the  way  you  do — kindly,  Nat,  and  considerately, 
and  bravely  and  tenderly  and  honestly " 

He  dropped  into  a  chair  near  her  and  buried 
his  head  in  his  hands.  "Don't!"  he  begged 
huskily.  "  Please,  Betty,  don't!  " 

But  she  wouldn't  stop,  little  guessing  how  she 
was  racking  his  heart  in  her  innocent  desire  to 
make  him  understand  how  deeply  she  appreciated 
all  he  had  done  for  her.  "And,  O  Nat,  it's 
worked  so  wonderfully!  It's  made  all  the  girls 
at  school  like  me,  and  it's  made  me  understand 
and  like  everybody  else  better;  and  now,  what's 
ten  thousand  times  the  best  of  all,  you  notice  an 
improvement  the  minute  you  see  me!  And  I — I 
never  was  so  happy  in  all  my  life."  She  bent  for- 
ward and  took  one  of  his  hands,  patting  it  softly. 
"  Nat,  I  think  you're  the  very  best  man  in  the 
whole  world !  " 


AS    OTHERS    SAW    HIM  315 

"  Don't!  "  he  groaned.  "  Don't,  for  Heaven's 
sake!" 

"  Oh,  I  know,  Nat — I  know  you  don't  like  me 
to  say  this,  but  I  must,  just  the  same,  tell  you  the 
truth  about  yourself.  It's  so  splendid  to  live  the 
life  you  do.  You're  all  unconscious  of  it,  but  I 
want  you  to  realise  it  and  know  that  I  do,  too. 
You've  made  everybody  love  you  and  .  .  ." 

But  confusion  silenced  her,  and  she  gently  re- 
placed his  hand.  For  several  moments  neither 
spoke.  Then  Nat  broke  the  tension  with  a  short, 
hard  laugh. 

"That's  right,"  he  said  inscrutably;  "that  was 
the  idea.  ..." 

"Nat,  what  do  you  mean?" 

He  turned  to  her.  "  Betty,  does  it  make  you — 
feel  that  way  toward  me?  " 

She  coloured  divinely.  "Why,  Nat,  of  course 
,.  .  .  Why,  everyone  ..." 

"  That's  why  I  came  here,  Betty,"  he  pursued, 
blind  to  her  embarrassment.  "  I  came  here  with 
the  idea  ...  of  getting  married.  ..." 

He  was  staring  gloomily  at  the  floor  and  could 
not  see  the  light  that  dawned  upon  the  girl's  face. 
Absorbed  in  the  struggle  with  his  conscience  he 
had  no  least  suspicion  of  how  his  words  were  af- 
fecting her.  He  knew  only  that  he  must  somehow 
make  a  confession  to  her,  that  to  own  her  regard 


316  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

and  gratitude  on  the  terms  that  then  existed  be- 
tween them  was  utterly  intolerable. 
"  You  never  guessed  that,  did  you?  " 

"No,"  she  breathed  brokenly.  "No,  Nat, 
j »» 

"Well,  it's  the  truth  and  .  .  ."  He  rose 
and  moved  away.  "  But  I  can't  tell  you  just  now 
— not  now  ..." 

"  No,  not  now,  Nat."  Betty,  too,  got  up.  "  I 
think  I'd  better  go  home  and  see  father — I 

mustn't  forget "  she  faltered,  half  blinded  by 

the  mist  of  the  happiness  before  her  eyes. 

"  No — wait."  She  stopped  to  find  his  gaze  full 
upon  her;  for  the  first  time  he  comprehended  that 
she  had  not  understood,  that,  worst  of  all,  she  had 
misunderstood.  "  I  must  tell  you,"  he  blurted 
desperately,  "  I  must." 

Instinctively  she  moved  a  step  toward  him.  He 
hung  his  head. 

"To-night,  Betty — this  evening,  just  a  little 
while  ago,  I  became  engaged  to  Josie  Lockwood." 

She  stood  as  if  petrified  throughout  a  wait  that 
seemed  to  both  interminable.  Then  he  heard  her 
catch  her  breath  sharply.  He  looked  up,  fright- 
ened, but  she  was  smiling  steadily  into  his  face. 
Somehow  he  found  her  hand  in  his. 

"  Oh,  Nat  dear,"  she  said,  "  I'm  so  glad  for 
you.  ...  I  wish  you  all  the  happiness  in  the 
world.  I  ...  Good-night." 


AS   OTHERS    SAW   HIM  317 

The  hand  slipped  out  of  Nat's.  He  did  not 
move,  but  waited  there  with  his  empty  palm  out- 
stretched, despair  in  his  eyes  and  hell  in  his  heart, 
while  she  walked  quietly  from  the  store. 

After  some  time  he  awoke  to  the  knowledge 
that  she  was  gone. 

"  Blithering  fool !  "  he  growled.  "  Why  didn't 
I  know  I  loved  her  like  this?  "  He  took  a  turn 
to  and  fro,  distracted.  "  And  now  I've  made  a 
mess  of  everything!  Good  Lord!  what  can  I  do? 
I  must  do  something  or  go  mad !  "  He  swung 
round  behind  the  soda-fountain  counter  and  seized 
a  bottle.  "  I  know  what!  The  rules  are  off!  I 
can  have  a  drink !  I  can  have  two  drinks !  I  can 
have  a  million  drinks  if  I  want  'em!  " 

Pouring  a  generous  dose  of  raw  whiskey  into 
the  glass  he  lifted  it  to  his  lips  and  threw  back 
his  head.  But  the  heavy  bouquet  of  the  liquor  was 
stifling  in  his  nostrils,  and  the  first  mouthful  of  it 
almost  choked  him.  In  a  fury  he  flung  the  glass 
from  him,  so  that  it  crashed  and  splintered  upon 
the  floor.  "Great  Heavens!"  he  cried.  "I 
don't  like  the  stuff  any  more.  .  .  .  But" — his 
gaze  fell  upon  the  cigar  case — "  I  can  have  a 
smoke.  That'll  help  some !  " 

With  feverish  haste  he  snatched  a  cigar  from 
the  nearest  box,  gnawed  off  one  end,  and  thrusting 
the  other  into  the  alcohol  lighter,  puffed  vigor- 
ously. But  to  his  renovated  palate  the  potent 


3i8  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

fumes  of  the  tobacco  were  no  less  repugnant 
than  the  whiskey  had  been.  Half  strangled,  he 
plucked  the  cigar  from  his  mouth  and  stamped 
on  it. 

"Oh,"  he  cried  wildly,  "I'll  be— I'll  be 
damned!" 

He  paused,  staring  vacantly  at  nothing.  "  And 
even  that  doesn't  do  any  good!  God  help  me, 
I've  forgotten  how  to  swear !  " 

To  him,  in  this  overwrought  state,  came  Tracey, 
lumbering  cheerfully  in,  his  mouth  shaped  for  a 
whistle.  At  sight  of  Nat  he  pulled  up  as  if  hit 
by  a  club. 

"  'Evenin',  Mister  Duncan.  What's  the  mat- 
ter?" 

By  an  effort  Nat  brought  his  gaze  to  bear  upon 
.  the  boy  and  comprehended  his  existence. 

14  Ain't  you  feeling  well,  Mr.  Duncan?" 

«  No— rotten!" 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Nothing!"  Nat  shouted  ferociously. 

"  Anything  I  kin " 

"No!" 

At  that  instant  Kellogg  appeared.  "  Hello, 
Nat!  What's  been  keeping  you?  I  came  down 
to  bring  you  home  to  supper." 

"  Go  to  blazes  with  your  supper!  Keep  away 
from  me !  Don't  talk  to  me !  I  don't  want  any- 
thing to  do  with'you,  d'you  understand?  You  and 


AS    OTHERS    SAW    HIM  319 

your  confounded  systems  have  got  me  into  all 
this " 

He  caught  sight  of  his  hat  abruptly,  ceased  talk- 
ing, grabbed  the  hat  and  jammed  it  on  his  head, 
muttering;  then  started  on  a  run  for  the  door. 

"But  what's  the  matter?"  demanded  Kellogg, 
thunderstruck.  "Here!  Hold  on!  Where  are 
you  going?" 

"  To  the  only  place  I  can  get  any  consolation 
—church!" 


XXII 

ROLAND'S  TRIUMPH 

BUT  at  the  doorstep  of  the  Methodist  Church 
Nat  hesitated.  The  building  was  dimly  lighted, 
for  it  was  choir  practise  night,  and  the  door  was 
ajar;  but  he  couldn't  bring  himself  to  enter.  He 
would  not  long  have  peace  and  quiet  in  which  to 
think,  there;  presently  would  come  Angie  and 
Josie  and  Roland  and  .  .  . 

"  I  couldn't  stand  it;  I'd  probably  murder 
Roland.  .  .  . 

"  Besides,  I've  no  right  there — an  impostor — a 
contemptible  low-lived  pup  like  me!  .  .  ,.: 

"  Why  the  thunderation  did  I  ever  allow  myself 
to  be  persuaded  to  come  here?  Why  was  I  ever 
such  a  fool?  .  .  . 

"  How  could  I  be  such  a  fool?     .     .    ." 

He  was  walking,  now,  striding  swiftly  through 
the  silent  village  streets,  meeting  few  wayfarers 
and  paying  them  no  heed,  whether  they  knew  and 
greeted  him  or  not.  His  entire  consciousness  was 
obsessed  by  regret,  repentance  and  remorse.  He 
had  ruined  everything,  deceived  everybody — even 
himself  for  a  time — played  the  cad  and  the 
320 


ROLAND'S   TRIUMPH  321 

bounder  with  consummate  address.  There  were 
no  bounds  to  the  contempt  he  felt  for  the  man 
who  had  tricked  these  simple,  kindly  folk  into 
believing  him  immaculate,  impeccable;  who  had 
hoodwinked  "  that  old  prince,  Graham,"  and 
under  false  pretences  gained  his  confidence  and 
affection;  who  had  deliberately  set  out  to  snare 
an  innocent  and  trusting  girl  for  the  sake  of  the 
filthy  money  her  father  owned;  who  had  made 
another  and  a  better  girl  love  him,  though  that  he 
had  done  so  unconsciously,  only  to  break  her 
heart;  who  had  sacrificed  everything,  honour  and 
decency  and  self-respect,  to  his  greed  for  money. 

But  it  should  go  no  further.  He'd  given  what 
he  called  his  word  of  honour  to  a  despicable  com- 
pact; there  could  be  no  dishonour  so  great  as 
holding  by  that  word,  sticking  to  his  bargain, 
maintaining  the  deception  and — ruining  the  life  of 
one  woman — perhaps  two :  Josie  Lockwood's,  for 
he  could  never  love  her;  and  possibly  Betty  Gra- 
ham's, for  she  was  of  that  sort  that  loves  once 
and  once  only.  If  she  truly  loved  him  .  .  . 
But  by  his  own  act  he  had  placed  himself  forever 
beyond  the  joy  of  her  love.  He  could  never  ac- 
cept it,  desire  it  as  passionately  as  he  might — and 
did.  He  could  never  consent  to  drag  her  down  to 
his  base  level.  .  .  ,. 

To-morrow — no,  to-night,  that  very  night,  he 
would  unmask  himself,  declare  his  character  to 


322  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

them  all,  pillory  himself  that  all  might  see  how 
low  a  man  could  fall.  And  to-morrow  he  would 
go,  leave  Radville,  lose  himself  to  all  that  had 
come  to  be  so  dear  to  him,  forever.  .  .  . 

So,  raving  and  ranting  with  the  extravagance 
of  youth,  he  passed  through  the  village,  out  into 
the  open  country,  and  in  the  course  of  an  hour 
and  a  half,  back — all  blindly :  circling  back  to  the 
store,  in  the  course  of  his  wanderings,  as  in- 
stinctly  as  a  carrier  pigeon  shapes  its  course  for 
home. 

It  was  with  incredulity  that  he  found  himself 
again  in  that  cheerful,  cherished,  homely  place. 
But  there  he  was  when  he  came  out  of  his  abstrac- 
tion: there  in  those  familiar  surroundings,  with 
Tracey's  round  red  face  beaming  at  him  over  the 
cigar-stand  like  a  lively  counterfeit  of  the  round 
red  moon  he  had  watched  lift  up  into  the  skies, 
back  there  in  the  still  countryside,  just  as  he  paused 
to  turn  back  to  town. 

He  recollected  his  faculties  and  resumed 
command  of  himself  sufficiently  to  acknowledge 
Tracey's  greeting  with  a  moody  word. 

"  All  right,  Tracey,"  he  said  abruptly.  "  You 
may  go,  now.  I'll  shut  up  the  store." 

He  looked  at  his  watch,  and  was  surprised  to 
discover  that  it  was  no  later  than  half-past  eight. 
He  seemed  to  have  lived  a  lifetime  in  the  last 
few  hours. 


ROLAND'S   TRIUMPH  323 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Tracey  with  a  gush  of 
gratitude.  "  I'll  be  glad  to  get  off.  Angle's 
waiting." 

«  Angle ?  " 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Duncan." 

"Oh,  Miss  Tuthill!"  Nat  discovered  that 
little  rogue,  all  smiles  and  dimples  and  blushes, 
not  distant  from  his  elbow.  "  I  didn't  see  you — 
I  was  thinking." 

"  Guess  we  know  what  you  was  thinkin'  about," 
observed  Tracey,  bringing  his  hat  round  the  coun- 
ter. "  Everybody  in  town's  talkin'  about  it." 

"About  what?" 

"  Ah,  you  know  about  what,  and  we're  mighty 
glad  of  it,  and  we  want  to  congratulate  you,  don't 
we,  Angie." 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed,  Mr.  Duncan.  It's  just  too 
sweet  for  anything." 

"O  Lord!"  groaned  Nat. 

"  I'm  awful  glad  you  done  it  when  you  did," 
pursued  Tracey,  oblivious  to  Nat  in  his  own 
ecstatic  temper.  "  I  guess  I  wouldn't  never  Ve 
got  up  the  spunk  to — to  tell  Angie  what  I  did 
to-night,  'f  it  hadn't  been  we  was  talkin '  'bout 
your  engagement  to  Josie.  Then,  somehow,  it 
just  seemed  to  bust  right  out  of  me,  like  I  couldn't 
hold  it  no  longer.  Didn't  it,  Angie?  " 

"  Oh,  Tracey,  how  can  you  talk  so  I  " 

"Then  you're  engaged,  too?"     Nat  inquired, 


324  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

rousing  himself  a  little  and  smiling  feebly  upon 
them. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  It's  great  news.  Now 
run  along,  both  of  you,  and  don't  forget  you'll 
never  be  so  happy  again."  With  what  he  thought 
an  expiring  flash  of  humour  he  raised  his  hands 
above  their  heads.  "Bless  you,  my  children!" 
he  said  solemnly.  "  Now,  for  Heaven's  sake,  beat 
it!" 

Alone  he  went  to  the  prescription  desk  and 
opening  one  of  the  drawers  took  out  the  firm's 
books.  After  that  for  some  fifteen  minutes  there 
was  nothing  to  be  heard  in  the  store  save  Nat's 
breathing  and  the  scratching  of  his  pen  as  he 
figured  out  a  trial  balance.  .  .  . 

Brisk  footfalls  disturbed  him.  He  sighed  and 
moved  out  into  the  store  to  find  Kellogg  there, 
suave  and  easy  as  always,  yet  with  that  in  his  man- 
ner, perceptible  perhaps  only  to  a  friend  of  long- 
standing like  Nat,  to  betray  a  mind  far  from  com- 
placent. 

"  Oh,  you're  here  1  "  he  cried,  with  a  distinct 
start  of  relief.'  "  I've  been  looking  all  over  for 
you." 

"  I  just  got  in."  Nat  brushed  aside  explana- 
tions curtly,  intent  upon  his  purpose.  "  Harry, 
I've  got  something  to  say  to  you:  I'm  not  going 
through  with  this  thing." 


ROLAND'S   TRIUMPH  325 

"You're  not?" 

"  No;  and  that's  final.  I  was  just  on  the  point 
of  drawing  you  a  cheque  for  three-hundred ;  that's 
all  my  share  of  the  profits  of  this  concern,  so  far; 
and  my  note  for  the  balance.  I'll  pay  that  up 
as  soon  as  I'm  able — and  I'll  work  like  a  ter- 
rier until  I  do.  But  as  for  the  rest  of  it,  I'm 
through." 

"  Oh,  you  are?"  Kellogg  took  a  chair  and 
tipped  back,  frowning  gravely.  "  But  what  about 
your  word  to  me?  " 

"  Damn  that,"  said  Duncan  without  heat.  "  The 
word  of  honour  of  a  man  who'd  stoop  to  a  trick 
as  vile  as  I  have  doesn't  amount  to  a  continental 
shinplaster.  I'll  rather  be  dishonoured  by  break- 
ing it  than  by  ruining  a  woman's  life." 

"  Very  well,  if  you  feel  that  way  about  it,"  said 
Kellogg  as  coolly.  "And  you  may  keep  your 
cheque  and  note :  I  wouldn't  take  them.  You  can 
pay  me  back  when  it's  convenient — I  don't  care 
when.  But  what  I  want  to  know  is  what  you 
mean  to  do?  " 

"  I  mean  to  do  the  only  thing  left  to  do.  I'm 
going  to  shut  up  here  and  then  see  Lockwood  and 
Josie  and  tell  them  the  whole  story." 

"  Hm,"  Kellogg  reflected,  quizzical.  "  You've 
got  a  pleasant  little  job  ahead  of  you." 

"I  don't  care  about  that:  I  deserve  all  that's 
coming  to  me.  I  owe  Josie  a  duty.  Why,  it's 


326  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

awful,  Harry,  to  trick  a  girl  into  caring  for  you 
and  then  to — to " 

"Break  her  heart?"  Kellogg's  tone  was  sar- 
donic. 

"  That's  what  I  meant." 

"Don't  flatter  yourself,  my  boy.  Josie  Lock- 
wood  doesn't  love  you;  she  just  set  herself  to  win 
you  because  you're  the  best  chance  she's  seen." 
Kellogg  laughed  quietly.  "  The  system  would 
have  worked  just  as  well  if  anyone  else  had  tried 
it." 

"  Do  you  think  so — honest?  "  Nat's  eagerness 
to  believe  him  was  undisguised. 

"  I'm  sure  of  it.  The  trouble  is  that  people  will 
say  you've  thrown  her  over — there  isn't  anyone  in 
Radville  who  hasn't  heard  the  news  by  this  time; 
and  that's  going  to  make  the  girl  feel  pretty  cheap. 
But  only  for  a  while :  she'll  get  over  it  and  solace 
herself  with  the  next  best  thing.  .  .  .  And 
don't  forget ;  you  lose  a  fortune." 

"  No,  I  don't,"  Duncan  disclaimed.  "  I  never 
had  it  and  now  I  don't  want  it." 

"  That's  true  enough,"  Kellogg  admitted 
evenly.  "  And  I  hope  you'll  always  feel  that 
way  about  it;  but,  believe  me,  you'll  find  plenty  of 
money  a  great  help  if  you  want  to  live  a  happy 
life." 

"  There  are  better  things  than  money  to  make 


ROLAND'S   TRIUMPH  327 

a  man  happy;  I'll  pass  up  the  money  and  try  for 
the  others." 

"That's  true,  too;  but  when  did  you  find  it 
out?" 

"  Here — this  last  year.  .  .  .  You  know  I  had 
everything  my  heart  desired  until  the  governor 
cashed  in;  and  I  used  to  think  I  was  a  pretty 
happy  kid  in  those  days.  But  now  I've  learned 
that  you  can  beat  that  kind  of  happiness  to  death. 
Harry " — Duncan  was  growing  almost  senten- 
tious— "  the  real  way  to  be  happy  is  to  work  and 
have  your  work  amount  to  something  and — and 
to  have  someone  who  believes  in  you  to  work  for." 

"  Is  this  a  sermon,  Nat?  " 

"  Call  it  what  you  like :  it  goes,  just  the  same. 
.  .  .  That's  what  I've  found  out  this  year." 

Kellogg  let  his  chair  fall  forward  and  rose, 
imprisoning  Nat's  shoulders  with  two  heavy  but 
kindly  hands.  "And  you're  right!"  he  cried 
heartily.  "  I'm  glad  you  had  the  backbone  to 
back  out,  Nat.  It  was  a  low-down  trick  and  I'm 
ashamed  of  myself  for  proposing  it.  I  did  it,  I 
presume,  simply  because  I'm  a  schemer  at  heart, 
and  I  knew  it  would  work.  It  did  work,  but  it's 
worked  a  finer  way  than  I  dreamed  of:  it's  made 
a  man  of  you,  Nat,  and  I'm  mightly  glad  and 
proud  of  you !  " 

Nat     swayed     with     amazement.       "  What's 


328  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

changed  you  all  of  a  sudden?"  he  demanded 
blankly. 

Releasing  him,  Kellogg  resumed  his  seat,  laugh- 
ing. "  Well,  a  number  of  things.  Among  others, 
I've  talked  with  Graham  and  I've  met  his  daugh- 
ter." 

"Oh-h!" 

"  And  that  reminds  me,"  Kellogg  changed  the 
subject  briskly;  "I  understood  from  you  that 
Graham  was  sole  owner  of  that  patent  burner." 

"  So  he  is." 

"  He  says  not.  I  had  a  proposition  to  make 
him  from  the  Mutual  people,  and  he  referred  me 
to  you,  saying  that  you  controlled  the  matter." 

"I've  not  the  slightest  interest  in  it!"  Nat 
protested. 

"  I  know  you  haven't,  but  Graham  insisted  you 
owned  the  whole  thing.  I  pressed  him  for  an  ex- 
planation, and  he  finally  furnished  one  in  his  ram- 
bling, inconsequent,  fine  old  way.  He  admitted 
that  there  wasn't  any  sort  of  an  existing  contract 
or  agreement  of  any  sort,  even  oral,  between  you, 
but  just  the  same  you'd  been  so  good  to  him  and 
his  girl  that  he'd  made  up  his  mind — some  time 
ago,  I  gather — to  make  you  a  present  of  the 
burner;  but  naturally  he  forgot  to  tell  you  about 
an  insignificant  detail  like  that." 

"  Of  course  that's  nonsense ;  I  wouldn't  and 
shant  accept." 


ROLAND'S   TRIUMPH  329 

"  Of  course  you  won't.  I  did  you  the  honour 
to  discount  that.  But  he  wouldn't  say  a  word 
about  the  offer — yes  or  no — just  left  it  all  up  to 
you.  He  says  you're  a  business  man,  and  that  he's 
often  thought  what  a  help  you  must  have  been  to 
me  before  you  left  New  York." 

Nat  laughed  outright.  "  Can  you  beat  that? 
.  .  .  But  what  is  the  offer?" 

"  Fifty  thousand  cash  and  ten  thousand  shares 
of  preferred  stock — hundred  dollars  par." 

"What's  that  worth?" 

11  At  the  market  rate  when  I  left  town,  seventy- 
eight."  Kellogg  waited  a  moment.  "  Well,  what 
do  you  say?  " 

"Say?  Great  Caesar's  Ghost!  What  is  there 
to  say?  Wire  'em  an  acceptance  before  they  get 
their  second  wind.  .  .  .  You  don't  know  how 
good  this  makes  me  feel,  Harry;  I  can't  thank  you 
enough  for  what  you've  done.  This'll  square  me 
with  Graham  to  some  extent,  and  I  can  clear 
out •" 

"  No,  you  can't,  Mr.  Smarty !  You  ain't  been 
'cute  enough." 

Both  men,  startled  by  the  interruption,  wheeled 
round  to  discover  Roland  Barnette  dancing  with 
excitement  in  the  doorway,  the  while  he  beckoned 
frantically  to  an  invisible  party  without.  "  Come 
on!  "he  shouted.  "Here  he  is!" 

"What's    eating    you,    Roly-Poly?"    inquired 


330  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Nat,  too  happy  for  the  money  to  cherish  animosity 
even  toward  his  one-time  rival. 

"  You'll  find  out  soon  enough,"  snarled  Roland. 
"  Mr.  Lockwood's  got  something  to  say  to  you, 
I  guess." 

And  on  the  heels  of  this  announcement  Lock- 
wood  strode  into  the  store,  Josie  clinging  to  his 
arm,  Pete  Willing — a  trifle  more  sanely  drunk 
than  he  had  been  some  hours  previous — bringing 
up  the  rear. 

"  So ! "  snarled  Blinky,  halting  and  transfixing 
Nat  with  the  stare  of  his  cold  blue  eyes.  "  So 
we've  found  you,  eh  ?  " 

"Oh?    I  didn't  know  I  was  lost." 

"  No  nonsense,  young  man.  I  ain't  in  the 
humour  for  foolin'."  Blinky  was  unquestionably 
in  no  sort  of  a  humour  at  all  beyond  an  evil  one. 
"  I  come  here  to  have  a  word  with  you." 

"Well,  sir?"  Nat's  tone  and  attitude  were 
perfectly  pacific. 

"  Ah,  there  ain't  no  use  beatin'  'round  the  bush. 
You've  behaved  yourself  ever  since  you  come  to 
Radville,  and  insinooated  yourself  into  our  confi- 
dence, 'spite  of  the  fact  that  nobody  in  town 
knows  who  you  were  before  you  came.  But  now 
Roland's  laid  a  charge  again'  you,  and  I  want  to 
know  the  rights  to  it." 

"  Well,"  Roland  interposed  cockily,  "  I  accused 
him  of  it  to-night  and  he  didn't  deny  it." 


ROLAND'S   TRIUMPH  331 

"  What's  more,"  Lockwood  continued  with  ris- 
ing colour,  "  Roland  says  he  can  prove  it?" 

"  Prove  what?  "  Nat  insisted.  "  Get  down  to 
facts,  can't  you?" 

"  That  you're  a  thief  with  a  reward  out  for 
you,"  said  Roland.  "You're  that  Mortimer 
Henry  what  absconded  from  the  Longacre  Na- 
tional Bank  in  Noo  York." 

There  fell  a  brief  pause.  Nat  bowed  his  head 
and  tugged  at  his  moustache,  his  shoulders  shak- 
ing with  emotion  variously  construed  by  those  who 
watched  him.  Presently  he  looked  up  again,  his 
features  gravely  composed. 

"  Roly,"  said  he,  "  Balaam  must  miss  you 
terribly." 

"  That  ain't  no  answer."  Lockwood  put  him- 
self solidly  between  Nat  and  the  object  of  his 
obscure  remark — who  was  painfully  digesting  it. 
"  I  want  to  know  about  this.  You  got  my  daugh- 
ter to  say  she'd  marry  you  this  evenin',  and 
you've  got  to  explain  to  me  about  this  bank  busi- 
ness before  it  goes  any  further." 

"Yes?"  commented  Nat  civilly. 

"  Yes!  "  thundered  Blinky.  "  Do  you  deny  it? 
.  .  .  Answer  me." 

To  Kellogg's  huge  diversion,  Nat  struck  an 
attitude,  "  I  refuse  to  answer,"  said  he. 

"Aha!  What'd  I  tell  you?"  This  was  Ro- 
land's triumphant  crow. 


332  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"  Nat !  "  Josie  advanced,  trembling  with  ex- 
citement. "  Tell  me,  what  does  this  mean?  " 

Duncan  perforce  avoided  her  gaze.  "  Don't 
ask,"  he  said  sadly. 

"  Is  it  true?"  she  insisted. 

"  You  heard  what  Roly  said,"  he  replied,  with 
a  chastened  expression. 

"  Then  you  adm'rt  it?  " 

"  I  admit  nothing." 

"  Oh-h !  "  The  girl  drew  away  from  him  as 
from  defilement.  "  I — I  hate  you !  "  she  cried  in 
a  voice  of  loathing 

"  That's  all  right,"  he  told  her  serenely;  "  I've 
despised  myself  all  evening." 

The  girl  showed  him  a  scornful  back. 
"  Papa "  she  began. 

"  Don't  thank  me,  Josie.  Roland  done  it  all : 
he  got  onto  him."  Lockwood  continued  to  watch 
Duncan  with  the  air  of  a  cat  eyeing  a  mouse. 

Impulsively  Josie  moved  to  Roland's  side  and 
caught  his  arm.  He  drew  himself  up  proudly. 

"  I  do  thank  you,  Roland;  I  can  never  be  grate- 
ful enough.  I've  been  so  foolish. 

"  That's  all  right."  Roland  tucked  the  girl's 
hand  beneath  his  arm  and  patted  it  down.  "  You 
wasn't  to  blame.  I  never  seen  anyone  from  Noo 
York  yet  that  wasn't  a  crook." 

"Won't  you  please  take  me  away  from  this — 
place,  Roland?  "  she  appealed. 


ROLAND'S   TRIUMPH  333 

"  I'll  be  mighty  glad  to  see  you  home,  Josie," 
he  assured  her  generously,  turning. 

In  the  act  of  leaving,  Josie  caught  Nat's  eye. 
She  hung  back  for  an  instant,  withering  him  with 
a  glare.  "Oh-h!"  she  cried.  "How  did  you 
dare  pretend  to  care  for  me?  " 

He  bowed  politely.  "  It  was  one  of  the  rules, 
Josie." 

"  There's  no  need  to  tell  you,  I  guess,  that  the 
engagement  is  broken." 

"  None  whatever,  Miss  Lockwood.  Good- 
evening." 

"Come,  Roland!" 

Arm  in  arm  they  left,  with  the  haughty  tread  of 
the  elect,  while  Pete  Willing  lurched  to  Duncan's 
side  and  caught  his  arm. 

"  Come  'long  to  jail,  Mish'r  Duncan,"  he  said 
with  sympathy.  "  Mush  bessher." 

"  You  look  after  him,  Pete."  Lockwood  turned 
to  leave  with  a  final  shot  for  Duncan.  "  I'll  'tend 
to  your  case  in  the  mornin',  young  man,  and  I'll 
make  you  wish  you  never  came  to  this  town." 

"  You  needn't  trouble.  I  feel  that  way  about 
it  already.  GooJ-night." 

Lockwood  left  them,  snarling.  Nat  caught 
Kellogg's  eye  and  began  to  giggle.  But  Pete  was 
still  holding  him  fast,  partially,  beyond  doubt,  for 
support. 

•"  You've  been  saved  just  in  time,  Mish'r  Dun- 


334  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

can,"  he  commented;  "y'are  mighty  lucky  man. 
Now  lissen:  you  better  make  tracks.  I  ain't  got 
no  warrant  to  hold  you,  'nd  I  wouldn't  if  I  had." 

"You're  a  good  fellow,  Pete;  but  you  needn't 
worry.  I'm  not  the  man  they  think  me,  and  it'll 
be  easy  to  prove." 

"Wai,"  said  Pete,  "jus*  the  same,  you  better 
git  out,  'r  you  may  have  to  marry  her  aft'all." 

"  No,  I  won't." 

"Thank  Gawd  f'r  that!"  Pete  exclaimed  in 
maudlin  gratitude.  He  swung  widely  toward  the 
door,  and  by  a  miracle  found  it.  "  G'night, 
Mish'r  Duncan.  I  feel  s'  good  'bout  thish  I'm 
goin'  try  goin'  home  'nd  face  m'  wife.  G'night." 

"  Good-night,  Pete." 

"  Well !  "  said  Kellogg  after  a  pause,  "  that  was 
a  bit  of  luck!" 

"Luck!"  Nat  seized  his  hat  and  began  to 
turn  off  the  lights.  "  It's  more  luck  than  I 
thought  there  was  in  the  whole  world.  Come 
along." 

"  Where  are  you  going?  " 

"  First,  to  see  Lockwood  and  have  it  out  with 
him." 

"  No,  you  aren't,"  Kellogg  laughed  as  Nat 
locked  the  door.  "  You're  going  to  leave  Lock- 
wood  to  me ;  I'll  manage  to  ease  his  mind.  You've 
got  infinitely  more  important  matters  to  attend  to 
— and  the  sooner  you  find  her,  the  better,  Nat! " 


XXIII 


THE  air  was  heavy  with  moisture  and  very  still 
and  warm ;  a  heady  fragrance  of  precocious  blooms 
flavoured  the  air,  vying  with  the  scent  of  rain. 
The  silence  was  profound,  but  shaken  now  and 
then  by  a  grumble  of  distant  thunder.  The  world 
hung  breathless  on  the  issue  of  the  night. 

Since  evenfall  a  wall  of  cloud,  massive  and  por- 
tentous, had  been  climbing  up  over  the  western 
hills,  slowly  but  with  ominous  steadiness  obscur- 
ing the  moon-swept  sky  with  its  far,  pale  wreaths 
of  stars,  blotting  it  out  with  monstrous  folds  and 
convolutions  of  impenetrable  purple-black.  Along 
its  crest  fire  played  like  swords  in  the  sunlight, 
and  now  and  again  sheeted  flame  lightened  the 
monstrous  expanse  so  that  it  glowed  with  the  pale 
phosphorescence  of  a  summer  sea. 

As  Duncan  hurried  homeward  over  sidewalks 
chequered  in  silver  and  ink,  the  advance  of  the 
cloud  army  seemed  to  become  accelerated.  With 
increasing  frequency  gusts  of  air  set  the  trees 
a-shiver  until  their  sibilant  whispers  of  warning 

335 


336  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

filled  the  valley.  The  rolling  of  the  thunder  grew 
more  sharp,  more  instant  upon  the  flashes.  .  .  . 
When  there  was  no  wind  the  air  seemed  to  quiver 
with  terror — as  a  dog  cringes  to  the  whip.  .  .  . 

But  of  this  Duncan  was  barely  conscious. 

He  gained  the  gate  in  the  fence  of  wood  paling, 
opened  it,  and  entered.  The  lawn  and  house  were 
lit  with  the  unearthly  radiance  of  moonlight 
threatened  by  eclipse.  He  could  see  the  light  in 
Graham's  study  and,  through  the  open  doors,  the 
faint  glow  of  the  hall-lamp.  But  there  was  no 
one  visible. 

He  hurried  up  the  path,  tortured  by  impatience, 
fear,  longing,  despair.  .  .  . 

Then  he  saw  what  seemed  at  first  a  pale  shadow 
detach  itself  from  darker  shades  in  the  shrubbery 
and  move  toward  him. 

"Nat,  is  it  you?" 

"Betty!" 

His  whole  heart  was  in  that  cry;  the  girl 
thrilled  to  its  timbre  as  though  a  master  hand 
had  struck  a  chord  upon  her  heart-strings. 

"  Nat,  what— what  is  it?  " 

"  Betty,  I  want  to  tell  you  something." 

She  came  very  slowly  toward  him,  torn  alter- 
nately by  fear  and  hope.  What  did  he  mean? 

"  Do  you  happen  to  remember  that  I  told 
you  a  while  ago  I  was  engaged  to  Josie  Lock- 
wood?" 


THE   RAINBOW'S    END  337 

"Nat!     Could  I  forget?    .    .    .    Why?" 
"  Because    .    .    .    it's  broken  off,  Betty." 
"Broken  off!    .    .    .    How?    Why?" 
"  Because  it  had  to  be,  sweetheart :  because  I 
love  you." 

She  was  very  close  to  him  then.  Her  uplifted 
face  shone  like  marble  in  the  fading  light. 
"  Nat,  I  ...  I  don't  understand." 
"  Then,  listen — I  must  tell  you.  It  was  all  a 
plan,  a  scheme,  my  coming  here,  Betty.  Every- 
thing I  did,  said,  thought,  was  part  of  a  contemp- 
tible trick.  ...  I  meant  to  marry  Josie  Lock- 
wood,  whom  I'd  never  seen,  for  her  money. 
.  .  .  Now  you  know  what  I  was,  dear.  .  .  . 
But  it's  different,  now.  I'm  not  the  same  man 
who  came  to  Radville  ten  months  ago.  I've 
learned  a  little  to  understand  the  right,  I  hope: 
I've  learned  to  love  and  reverence  goodness  and 
purity  and  unselfishness  and  .  .  .  And  I  want 
to  be  a  man,  the  kind  of  a  man  you  thought  me :  a 
man  worthy  of  you  and  your  love,  Betty.  .  .  . 
Because  I  love  you.  I  want  you  to  be  my  wife. 
.  .  .  And,  O  Betty,  Betty,  I  need  you  to  help 
me!" 

His  voice  broke.  He  waited,  every  nerve  and 
fibre  of  him  tense  for  her  answer.  While  he 
had  been  speaking,  the  onrush  of  the  storm  had 
blotted  out  the  moon.  There  was  only  darkness 
there  in  the  garden — deep,  dense  darkness,  so 


538  THE   FORTUNE    HUNTER 

thick  he  could  not  even  see  the  shimmer  of  her 
dress.  .  .  . 

Then  suddenly  she  was  in  his  arms,  shaking  and 
sobbing,  straining  him  to  her. 

"  Oh,  Nat,  my  Nat!  I've  loved  you  from  the 
first  day  I  ever  saw  you !  You  know  I  have." 

"Betty!    .    .    .    sweetheart   .    .    ." 

There  came  an  abrupt,  furious  patter  of  heavy 
drops  of  water,  beating  upon  the  foliage,  splash- 
ing and  rebounding  from  the  house. 

"  Forever  and  ever,  Nat?  " 

"  Forever  and  ever  and  a  day,  my  dear  .  *  • 
xnydear!" 

A  little  later  an  anxious  voice — old  Sam's — 
hailed  them  from  the  house,  but  was  drowned 
by  the  downpour.  They  were  as  unconscious  of 
it  as  of  the  storm. 

So  that,  presently,  old  Sam  had  to  run  down 
the  path  with  a  big  umbrella  to  shield  them  until 
they  should  come  to  their  senses. 


THE  END 


A  FEW  OF 

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GRET:    The  Story  of  a  Pagan.    By  Beatrice  Mantle.    Illustrated 

by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

The  wild  free  life  of  an  Oregon  lumber  camp  furnishes  the  setting  for  this 
strong  original  story.  Gret  is  the  daughter  of  the  camp  and  is  utterly  con- 
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OLD   CHESTER   TALES.     By  Margaret  Deland.     Illustrated 
by  Howard  Pyle. 

A  vivid  yet  delicate  portrayal  of  characters  in  an  old  New  England  town. 

Dr.  Lavendar's  line,  kindly  wisdom  is  brought  to  bear  upon  the  lives  of 
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THE  MEMOIRS  OF  A  BABY.    By  Josephine  Daskam.    Illus- 
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The  dawning  intelligence  of  the  baby  was  grappled  with  by  its  great  aunt, 
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even  the  infant  himself  winked.    A  delicious  bit  of  humor. 
REBECCA  MARY.     By  Annie  Hamilton  Donnell.     Illustrated 
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The  heart  tragedies  of  this  little  girl  with  no  one  near  to  share  them,  are 
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THE  FLY  ON  THE  WHEEL.    By  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston. 
Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

An  Irish  story  of  real  power,  perfect  in  development  and  showing  a  true 
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THE  MAN  FROM  BRODNEY'S.    By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 
Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

An  island  in  the  South  Sea  is  the  setting  for  this  entertaining  tale,  and 
an  all-conquering  hero  and  a  beautiful  princess  figure  in  a  most  complicated 
plot.  One  of  Mr.  McCutche  n's  best  books.. 

TOLD  BY  UNCLE  REMUS.    By  Joel  Chandler  Harris.    Illus- 
trated by  A.  B.  Frost,  J.  M.  Conde  and  Frank  Verbeck. 

Again  Uncle  Remus  enters  the  fields  of  childhood,  and  leads  another 
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THE  CLIMBER.    By  E.  F.  Benson.     With  frontispiece. 

An  unsparing  analysis  of  an  ambitious  woman's  soul — a  woman  who 

believed  that  in  social  supremacy  she  would  find  happiness,  and  who  finds 

instead  the  utter  despair  of  one  who  has  chosen  the  tilings  that  pass  away. 

LYNCH'S  DAUGHTER.    By  Leonard  Merrick.    Illustrated  by 

Geo.  Brehm. 

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MARY  JANE'S  PA.    By  Norman  Way.    Illustrated  with  scenes 

from  the  play. 

Delightful,  irresponsible  "  Mary  Jane's  Pa"  awakes  one  morning  to  find 
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CHERUB  DEVINE.    By  Sewell  Ford. 

"  Cherub,"  a  good  hearted  but  not  over  refined  young  man  is  brought  in 
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A  WOMAN'S  WAY.     By  Charles  Somerville.    Illustrated  with 

scenes  from  the  play. 

A  story  in  which  a  woman's  wit  and  self-sacrificing  love  save  her  husband 
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THE  CLIMAX.    By  George  C.  Jenks. 

With  ambition  luring  her  on,  a  young  choir  soprano  leaves  the  little  village 
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Studies,  how  she  suffers,  are  vividly  portrayed. 

A  FOOL  THERE  WAS.     By  Porter  Emerson  Browne.     Illus- 
trated by  Edmund  Magrath  and  W.  W.  Fawcett. 
A  relentless  portrayal  of  the  career  of  a  man  who  C9mes  under  the  influence 
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struggles,  falls  and  rises,  only  to  fall  again  into  her  net,  make  a  story  of 
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THE  SQUAW   MAN.     By  Julie  Opp  Faversham  and  Edwin 

Milton  Royle.    Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 
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hero  and  a  beautiful  English  heroine. 

THE  GIRL  IN  WAITING.     By  Archibald  Eyre,     Illustrated 

with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  droll  little  comedy  of  misunderstandings,  told  with  a  light  touch,  a  ven- 
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THE   SCARLET    PIMPERNEL.     By  Baroness  Orczy.     Illus- 
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A  Cape  Cod  story  describing  the  amusing  efforts  of  an  el- 
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THE  FORGE  IN  THE  FOREST.    By  Charles  G.  D. 

Roberts.     Illustrated  by  H.  Sandham. 
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A  SISTER  TO  EVANGELINE.      By   Charles  G.  D. 

Roberts.    Illustrated  by  E.  McConnell. 
Being  the  story  of  Yvonne  de  Lamourie,  and  how  she  went 
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ground for  this  romance.    A  beautiful  woman,  at  discord  with 
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THE  RIGHT  PRINCESS.  'By  Clara  Louise  Burnham. 
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THE  LEAVEN  OF  LOVE.     By  Clara  Louise   Burn- 
ham.    Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 
At  a  Southern  California  resort  a  world-weary  woman,  young 
and  beautiful  but  disillusioned,  meets  a  girl  who  has  learned 
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Reed,  and  Scenes  Reproduced  from  the  Play. 
One  of  the  best  New  England  stories  ever  written.     It  is 
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THE  FURTHER  ADVENTURES  OF  QUINCY 
ADAMS  SAWYER.  By  Charles  Felton  Pidgin. 
Illustrated  by  Henry  Roth. 

All  who  love  honest  sentiment,  quaint  and  sunny  humor, 
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HALF  A  CHANCE.  By  Frederic  S.  Isham.  Illus- 
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The  thrill  of  excitement  will  keep  the  reader  in  a  state  of 
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dares — and  achieves  I 

VIRGINIA   OF   THE   AIR    LANES.    By   Herbert 

Quick.    Illustrated  by  William  R.  Leigh. 
The  author  has  seized  the  romantic  moment  for  the  airship 
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THE  GAME  AND  THE  CANDLE.     By  Eleanor  M. 

Ingram.     Illustrated  by  P.  D.  Johnson. 
The  hero  is  a  young  American,  who,  to  save  his  family  from 
poverty,  deliberately  commits  a  felony.    Then  follow  his  cap- 
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